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.

The Terrifying Truth Behind the Nightly Ghost Voice | Realistic Horror Story in English

 

Every night at exactly 2:15 a.m., a strange trembling voice echoed through Raghav’s old wooden house. At first, he believed it was the wind slipping through the cracks, but this voice whispered his name—soft, shaky, and painfully familiar.




One night, determined to uncover the truth, Raghav stayed awake with a lantern in his hand. When the clock struck 2:15, the voice returned, louder this time: “Raghav… help me…” His heart froze. The voice belonged to his younger sister, Tara, who had died mysteriously a year ago.




The sound came from the locked storeroom at the end of the corridor—a place no one had entered since Tara’s death. Hands trembling, he opened the door. Cold air rushed out, making the lantern flicker. In the center of the room lay Tara’s old diary. As Raghav stepped closer, the voice whispered again, right into his ear.




He picked up the diary, and suddenly the door slammed shut behind him. The pages flipped violently on their own and stopped on a line written in blood:

“I never left this house.”




Raghav felt a shadow stand behind him.

And for the first time, he realized the voice wasn’t calling for help…

It was calling him inside.