I think ghosts are energy that lingers over time and, if it’s not cleared or amplified, it can be made manifest. Not to be metaphysical—I see the clutter that arises out of hoarding in the same way, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Houses, especially those steeped in history, are inherently liminal spaces—they exist at the threshold between the past and the present, the seen and the unseen.
We were once afraid of the darkness in the open expanse of the wilderness at night, and now the darkness is contained with us within four walls. You don’t know what’s going on in those four walls until you’re inside and staying there for a while, whether it’s an overnight stay as a guest, a lease with a fixed term, or a long-term purchase.
Mark Fisher’s concept of the weird captures this unease perfectly. The weird is that which feels out of place—an energy, an object, or a memory that doesn’t belong but refuses to leave. Houses are often full of these anomalies: a creaking floorboard, a shadow in the corner of your eye, a strange layout that never quite makes sense. These small dissonances accumulate, creating an atmosphere that feels uncanny, as though the house itself is alive and aware of your presence.
The trap of the house is also deeply modern. Once you discover its unsettling secrets, you have to stay there, tethered by responsibility and the cost of leaving. The house becomes a site of entrapment—a perfect example of Fisher’s liminal, where you’re stuck in a space that isn’t quite safe but isn’t immediately escapable either, with whispers and presence making themselves known to you from out of time.
If this resonates, you might enjoy my autobiographical contemporary gothic story about living in a house that used to be an old maternity hospital (pictured), where I explore these feelings and ideas. You can read it here: Haunting.
