• English - Horror

    𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐥

    July 8, 2025 - By 

    N. V. Rao One Kartik Rajan had written about many strange things in Delhi—forgotten cinema halls with broken projectors still facing empty screens, a clocktower in Chandni Chowk that ticked in reverse during an eclipse, and a hermit who claimed to dream in languages that no longer existed. But when his editor slid a dusty manila folder across the desk marked “Malcha Mahal – DO NOT ENTER,” he scoffed. It was the kind of gimmicky fluff assigned to rookies or burned-out writers nearing retirement. “Ghost Story Saturday,” they called it—an online weekend column for bored readers. Still, something about the…

  • Crime - English - Horror

    The Perfumer of Hazratganj

    July 6, 2025 - By 

    Shamsuddin Ansari Chapter 1: The First Scent It was the smell that reached her before the crime scene did—sharp, floral, unsettlingly sweet. Inspector Ayesha Rizvi paused at the mouth of the narrow alley in Hazratganj, where the rainwater had begun to pool like slow-moving ink. The yellow tape fluttered in the humid breeze, but it was the fragrance in the air—unfamiliar, exotic—that made her stomach tighten. The dead girl lay beneath a crimson shawl, one hand stretched toward a rusted shutter, as if she had tried to knock before she died. On her chest, placed deliberately, was a glass vial…

  • English - Horror

    The Curse of Rishikesh

    July 4, 2025 - By 

    Kavya Patel Chapter 1: The Legend of the Goddess Rishikesh, a serene town nestled between the towering Himalayas and the sacred Ganges River, had always been a place of peace and spiritual tranquility. Pilgrims from all over the world arrived here seeking solace, meditating by the banks of the river, and performing rituals in the ancient temples scattered around the town. But hidden deep in the forested hills beyond the town was a secret that few dared to speak of—an ancient temple, home to a vengeful goddess, whose wrath was said to curse anyone who trespassed on her sacred grounds.…

  • English - Horror

    The Stone That Remembers

    July 4, 2025 - By 

    Ananya Dhar It was not on any map, and yet Netarhat had a railway station — a rusted signboard leaning sideways, with “NETARHAT” painted in half-faded red on flaking wood. Arohi Sen stepped off the narrow-gauge train with a dull ache in her temples, the kind that came from climbing too high, too fast. The cold air smelled of damp moss, like an old library buried in a forest. A single porter looked at her curiously, then turned away without offering help. She was used to that look — a mix of surprise and dismissal — as if a woman…

  • English - Horror

    Chilling in Cherrapunji

    July 4, 2025 - By 

    Pritha Mukherjee One Ani Roy stepped off the weather-stained bus and into the wet embrace of Cherrapunji’s legendary monsoon, the rain falling in silvery sheets that blurred the world into watercolor. His boots sank into the mud as he adjusted his camera bag, glancing back at Neel, who was wrestling with their gear under a dripping umbrella that had already given up its fight against the elements. Before them stood the lodge—a crumbling colonial relic with moss-eaten walls and narrow verandas that seemed to shiver under the weight of relentless rain. The carved wooden sign swung gently, its letters half-faded…

  • English - Horror - Suspense

    The Red Saree

    July 3, 2025 - By 

    Niyati Sharma Chapter 1: The rain was relentless as the ferry docked at Mandwa jetty. Ishita Karve stepped onto the slick platform, her umbrella barely holding against the salty wind. Beside her, Aaditya Deshmukh stood with quiet pride, his suitcase in one hand and a folded umbrella in the other. The car that awaited them—a vintage black Ambassador driven by an old man with sun-wrinkled skin and sharp eyes—was to take them to their new home: Villa Rosa, the Deshmukh ancestral property gifted to them as a wedding present. Ishita had only seen photos of it—a white Portuguese-style house with…

  • English - Horror

    The Widow of Greyhill Manor

    July 2, 2025 - By 

    Isabelle D’Mello Part 1: The Last House on the Hill The cab hesitated at the foot of the winding, gravel road. “This is where it ends for me,” the driver muttered, eyes darting to the thick trees lining either side. The evening sky above was bruised with the last pinks of sunset, and a fog had already begun to pool over the earth like breath from a hidden mouth. “Greyhill Manor’s up there. Two kilometers. Walk it if you must.” Elena Harris didn’t argue. She stepped out with her duffel bag and her boots hitting the cold ground with a…

  • English - Horror

    The Last Séance at Bhangarh Fort

    July 1, 2025 - By 

    Soumyo Roy Part 1: The Journal The pages were yellowed, brittle at the corners, and the leather spine smelled of time — not the clean scent of old libraries, but of something older, heavier. Like soil packed over secrets. Rehan Sen traced his fingers over the inscription on the first page: “Meera K. Sharma, August 12, 1986. For those who never came back.” He looked up at his colleague, Sana, who stood frozen in the dusty corner of the used bookstore they had stumbled into in Chawri Bazaar. “Didn’t she go missing at Bhangarh?” “Not just her. Three of them.…

  • English - Horror

    The Harvest of Harsinghpur

    July 1, 2025 - By 

    Chapter 1: The Golden Arrival The road to Harsinghpur was narrow and snaked like a forgotten scar through endless waves of wheat fields swaying under a late summer sun. Simran Kaur sat in the back of the dusty jeep, her duffel bag squeezed between her knees, eyes fixed on the undulating gold outside the window. The driver, a quiet man with a thick mustache and a radio playing crackly folk songs, hadn’t spoken since they’d passed the broken milestone that read: “Harsinghpur – 3 km.” As they entered the village, Simran’s first impression was of silence—not the peaceful, countryside kind,…

  • English - Horror

    The Clockmaker’s Widow

    June 30, 2025 - By 

    Sreeparna Dutta Part 1: The Clock that Shouldn’t Tick The villa stood like a forgotten promise—wrapped in fog, choked by ivy, and hunched at the edge of the cliff like it wanted to leap off. Priya Kapoor stood before the iron gate of “Whispering Pines,” a name that now seemed laughably poetic. The trees didn’t whisper. They watched. She adjusted her scarf as the wind cut sharper than she remembered. This wasn’t the Himachal of pretty postcards or Instagram reels. This was old Darchand—the abandoned hill station locals said was cursed by time itself. The driver who brought her up…