In the outskirts of the city stood an old hospital, abandoned for decades. Locals whispered that even though the hospital had shut down after a mysterious fire, the spirits of patients and staff never left. Strange cries and footsteps were often reported by passersby.
One stor 87my night, a group of friends decided to test their courage and entered the hospital. The corridors were damp, littered
Deep inside a remote jungle, there stood a ruined hut that no villager dared to approach after sunset. They whispered it was cursed, haunted by the restless soul of a woman who died tragically within its walls.
One stormy evening, Arun, a smoke and decay. Still, he lit a lantern and tried to rest.
At midnight, he was woken by faint knocking on the walls. The lantern flickered and went out. In the darkness, he heard soft sobbing. Slowly, a shadow emerged—a woman in tattered clothes, her face half-burnt, her eyes
In the heart of a silent town stood a two-storey house, abandoned for nearly ten years. People whispered about it, saying a young girl’s spirit had taken control of the place after her tragic death. No one dared to step inside after sunset, for strange screams and the sound of anklets echoed through the dark corridors.
One evening, three friends decided to test their courage. Armed with flashlights, they entered the decaying house. The air grew
In the remote hills of Assam lies a small village called Jatinga, shrouded in an eerie mystery. Every year, on dark, foggy, and stormy nights, thousands of birds suddenly drop from the sky, as if some invisible force is pulling them to their deaths. The villagers believe it is the work of an evil spirit that haunts the skies, luring the birds with strange lights and trapping their souls forever.
According to old folklore, centuries ago, a sorcerer cursed this land, vowing that no winged creature would ever find peace here. Since then, the bizarre phenomenon continues, with birds behaving as if hypnotized, flying straight into the village only to die mysteriously.
The haunting doesn’t stop there—locals claim they have seen ghostly shadows drifting through the mist on those cursed nights, whispering chants that chill the blood. Scientists have tried to explain it as disorientation due to weather and topography, but no one has been able to unravel the full truth.
Jatinga remains a place of both fear and fascination, where nature and the supernatural seem to collide. Tourists visit out of curiosity, but villagers still light fires at night, praying to keep the dark spirit
s away.
It was a chilly winter night as I traveled from Punjab to Odisha on a nearly empty train. Most passengers were asleep, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels was the only sound. Around midnight, I felt the seat beside me shift, as if someone had just sat down. Startled, I turned, but no one was there.
A cold breeze brushed past my face, and a faint, mournful whisper reached my ears: “Take me to my destination…” My heart pounded. I looked into the window’s reflection—and froze. A dark, human-shaped shadow stood directly behind me, its face blurred, its eyes glowing faintly red.
I couldn’t move. The air grew heavier, and the temperature dropped further. I closed my eyes, praying for morning. The moment the train slowed for the next station, I bolted out. Standing on the platform, I turned back for one last look.
In the last compartment’s doorway, the same shadow figure stood still, watching me with unblinking eyes—its whisper echoing in my mind. That night, I realized some passengers on the train never reach their destination… and they keep looking for someone to hel
p them.
It had been two years since I last experienced the terrifying presence in my house. I thought the spirit was gone for good. But one rainy night, as I sat alone in my living room, the familiar smell of burnt incense filled the air—except I hadn’t lit any.
The lights flickered, and a cold wind rushed through the closed windows. My dog began growling at the corner of the room, his eyes fixed on the empty space. Then, I heard it—a slow, deliberate knock on my bedroom door.
Late one winter night, Ravi, a railway guard, was stationed at a remote junction. The platform was empty, shrouded in thick fog, when he heard the distant whistle of an approaching train. As the sound grew louder, an old, blackened steam engine emerged from the mist—its design unlike any in service for decades.
The train screeched to a halt, yet no passengers stepped out. Curious, Ravi climbed aboard. Inside, he found dimly lit compartments filled with pale, silent people staring blankly ahead. Their eyes glowed faintly, and the air felt icy.
When Ravi tried to speak, no one moved. Then, the door behind him slammed shut. The train jerked forward, moving faster and faster into the darkness. Through the windows, he saw flashes of eerie landscapes—ruins, graveyards, and burning fields.
One passenger finally whispered, “You boarded the train of the dead. There is no way back.” Ravi’s scream was swallowed by the roaring engine.
By morning, the train had vanished. The station master found only Ravi’s cap lying on the tracks. Some say, on foggy nights, you can still hear the whistle of the ghost train—and if you see it, you must nev
er board.
In a remote village stood an ancient mansion, abandoned yet feared for centuries. The locals whispered about a demonic shadow that had clung to one cursed family for 300 years. According to legend, the curse began when the family’s ancestor betrayed a wandering mystic, stealing a sacred relic. That night, a shadow—tall, faceless, and reeking of decay—appeared in his room. From then on, it followed every generation, never resting.
Witnesses claimed it would appear in mirrors, behind doors, or even in moonlit fields, whispering in a voice that could freeze the blood. Many family members died mysteriously—some in accidents, others found lifeless with terror etched on their faces. The mansion was eventually abandoned, but the shadow didn’t stay behind.
In 1978, a tourist unknowingly stayed near the mansion and woke to find the shadow looming over him. He escaped, but not before hearing it whisper his name. Since then, sightings have spread across the country. The villagers say, once the shadow knows you, it follows forever.
And if you ever feel a sudden chill in an empty room, they warn—it might already be standing behi
nd you.
Deep inside a forgotten valley lay a village named Koldhara, a place people spoke of only in whispers. Locals believed the village ...
