Amavasya Night Horror Story: A True Terrifying Tale from a Moonless Night

 

On

a moonless Amavasya night, Ravi was returning to his village after years. The road cut through a dense forest where locals warned no one should travel after midnight. At exactly 12:12 a.m., his bike suddenly stopped. The air turned cold, and silence swallowed the forest.




As Ravi tried to restart the bike, he heard footsteps crunching behind him. Turning back, he saw a shadow without a face, standing unnaturally still. His heart raced. The shadow slowly raised its hand and pointed toward the forest. Ravi felt a strange pull, as if his body was no longer under his control.




Suddenly, whispers filled his ears—voices crying, laughing, and screaming together. He remembered the village stories: souls of people who died on Amavasya wander freely, seeking the living. Gathering all his strength, Ravi closed his eyes and began chanting prayers his grandmother had taught him.




The whispers grew louder, then vanished. His bike started on its own. When Ravi reached the village, elders turned pale hearing his story. They told him many had disappeared on that road during Amavasya nights.




Ravi survived—but even today, he wakes up hearing those whispers, reminding him that some nights never truly end.

Screaming Night: The Haunted Tale of the Old House | Real Horror Story

 

Rahul had always been fascinated by old, abandoned places. One night, he decided to explore the deserted house at the edge of his village — a place everyone called “The House of Screams.” As the clock struck midnight, Rahul stepped inside with a torch in hand. The wooden door creaked open, and a cold wind brushed against his face.

Inside, the walls were covered with strange symbols, and the silence was eerie. Suddenly, a loud scream echoed through the hallway, freezing Rahul in place. He turned to run but found the door locked. The lights flickered, revealing faint shadows moving across the walls. Terrified, he stumbled into a room where an old photograph lay on the floor — a family portrait with one face scratched out.

As he picked it up, a woman’s whisper filled the air, “You shouldn’t have come here…” The next morning, villagers found the house empty — Rahul was gone. But from that day onward, every night at exactly 12, the same scream echoes from the old house, as if Rahul had joined the cursed souls trapped within