100 Books Like Ghosts

This is the book that taught me how powerful loneliness can be.

Every time I return to it, I feel one character’s ache settle into me, that desperate want to belong somewhere, even if it’s a house that doesn’t love you back. I recommend it because it still feels as if I’m attempting to figure out what is happening alongside the characters, the way only great writing can.

Jackson makes you realize that the scariest hauntings aren’t in the walls, they’re the ones we carry within us.

I am a huge fan of the very-brief gothic. It’s so hard to do well; trivial jump-scares are easy, but to produce a meaningful effect in only a few pages takes real precision. Shirley Jackson holds the crown with "The Lottery," but my second favorite instance of a surprisingly quick read that produces a real gasp is Angela Carter’s mini-treasure, "The Werewolf."

It manages to be a fairy tale, feminist critique, a witch, and a werewolf story all at once—and, like the beast in the title, it may not be what it appears. Also wonderful to me are "The Company of Wolves," "The Snow Child," and the eponymous "The Bloody Chamber," that one a revisioning of "Bluebeard"—essentially, Carter updates all kinds of dark fairy tales, bringing out their subversive shadows for a savvy reader. Still so fresh to this day.

Are there any ghosts in the most famous ghost story of all time, "The Turn of the Screw"? Fans have been debating that for over a century. I am awed and frequently challenged by James’ prose style, in which so much is rendered carefully ambiguous.

In his greatest offerings—"The Jolly Corner," "The Real Right Thing," and, a personal fave, "The Friends of the Friends"—he was able to elevate Gilded Age ghost stories to the realm of high art. Among his most central gifts was a Hawthorne-inspired interest in the nature of guilt, self-deception, and the spectral world inside our minds.

I recently visited Henry James’ grave in Cambridge and found that anonymous fans continue to leave him little tributes to this day.

The wonderful Robert Aickman; the first time I read some of what he called his “strange tales,” I knew I wasn’t ever going to forget the experience. Unnerving in the best possible way, there’s no one quite like Aickman for invoking a world that is half-waking, half-fever dream, somehow outside us and horribly inside our heads us all at once.

I could easily have picked any of his story collections, from The Wine-Dark Sea to the wonderfully titled Cold Hand in Mine, but Dark Entries contains his masterpiece, "Ringing the Changes." It’s a story about a May-December couple on honeymoon who find themselves in a town of the dead. I read it every Hallowe’en for the simple pleasure of Aickman’s craft.

We all think we know "A Christmas Carol" but after the Muppet version, I find myself thinking of it as simply comical.

Until I re-read it, I forget just how chilling the ghosts who visit Scrooge are. And I love "Captain Murderer," Dickens’ account of how his nursemaid terrified him with scary tales, because it takes me back to my own childhood love of terrors.

Then there are stories like "The Signalman," which is not at all funny, darkened with the signalman’s dreadful loneliness and apprehension.

Dickens was a Master. Even his humorous ghost stories have an edge of fear.

Fans of literary fiction may not even realize that Edith Wharton (1862-1937), author of novels like The Age of Innocence and Ethan Frome, also loved to write ghost stories, which often revolve around themes of class and gender. This collection includes such gems as the truly unnerving "The Lady Maid's Bell," the eerie yet poignant "Afterward," and "All Souls," one of the most unusual Halloween tales ever penned.

I feel there's an art to incorporating the paranormal into a mystery without its presence dismissing the practical aspect of the characters’ investigation. D.J. Machale reached the perfect application of this in this book and its sequel.

While the series is directed at a younger audience, the mystery is superb without much handholding but with gripping action moments and the allure of something deeper that keeps the reader guessing until it all comes to a satisfying conclusion. Especially when paired with the sequel. Side note: tangent storylines that significantly impact each other without the characters realizing it is one of the top five forms of storytelling to me!

“Perhaps if I ask myself questions, my memory will come back?” The story opens with a now grown-up girl returning to her childhood home, only to realise on route that she is a ghost. But why did she die so young? Her mission must be to go back in time and warn her younger self of impending danger, however when she reaches her destination she can’t remember which of four sisters she is, as they all seem annoying. And what exactly is the disaster she is trying to avert? Could it be related to the pagan rituals the sisters are conducting to Monigan, the creepy doll they keep in the garden shed? What do you think? A thoughtful timeslip tale about trying to make sense of your childhood self.

Imagine a contemporary fantasy, driven by sword-wielding, swashbuckling, mystically empowered, ghostbusting teenagers. Yup. That is the cool twist in Jonathan Stroud’s Lockwood & Co. Series.

He’s best known for the Bartimaeus Trilogy, and takes all of his fantasy worldbuilding craft to design a modern world where ghosts are not only real but common and quite deadly to us living folk. You will fall in love with Lockwood and Lucy, sense the tension between them, and yet be relieved to discover that their connection isn’t the predictable stuff of typical teen romance.

The remarkable ghosts are similar to fantasy races. Rather than elves, gnomes, warlocks, etc., you have screamers, wailers, howling maids, and a whole host of specific ghost types that I dare not spoil. If you like fantasy with a touch of creepy, you’ll love Lockwood & Co.

Even though this is a period novel, I read this story for its Gothic horror and literary acumen. Repression of memories, feelings, and guilt struck me throughout. Dr. Faraday discovers ghostly mysteries at Hundreds Hall, and his romance with Caroline is spooky enough, but this ghost story is grounded in reality.

Who is the little stranger haunting the premises? I sunk deeply into this story, drinking up the beauty. But the ending! Wow. Brilliantly revealed and aptly placed on the final page. Sarah Waters hides the ghost in plain sight, and yet I was surprised at the conclusion—delightfully so. I’m a sucker for one-liners that grab the reader by the throat, metaphorically speaking, at the last line. I plan to read it again because it’s that good.