• English - Horror

    The Drowned Bride of Jhargram

    Purnendu Dey I The road to Jhargram was lined with towering sal and mahua trees, their shadows stretching long in the golden light of late afternoon as the car carrying Arjun and Priya turned towards the palace gates. For both of them, this was supposed to be a moment of pride, of fulfillment—choosing a venue that not only reflected heritage and grandeur but also marked the beginning of their married life in an unforgettable way. Priya, who had spent years documenting old forts and mansions as part of her conservation projects, was brimming with excitement, her eyes darting between the…

  • English - Horror

    The Saltwater Bride

    Prakash Nayak 1 The train had rattled away hours ago, leaving Dr. Ananya Menon with only the crash of waves and the whisper of palms for company as she entered the fishing village that would become her temporary home. She had come armed with her instruments, notebooks, and the absolute conviction that science could measure everything worth knowing. Yet on her very first evening, as the sea winds thickened with the smell of brine and the restless stir of a storm brewing beyond the horizon, she noticed how the fishermen paused in their work, speaking in hushed tones as if…

  • English - Horror

    The Saree That Walked

    Sampriti Bhattacharya 1 The train slid into Varanasi Junction under a pale winter sun, its light already filtered through a haze of incense smoke, dust, and the faint smell of the Ganga carried on the morning air. Arpita Sen stepped onto the platform, her leather satchel hanging heavily at her side, filled with notebooks, sketching pencils, and rolls of acid-free paper for documenting antique textiles. She had been commissioned by a heritage trust in Kolkata to research and archive rare Banarasi silk traditions, a project that felt as much like a pilgrimage as a professional assignment. Outside the station, the…

  • English - Horror

    The Seventh Step

    Veena Mehta One The ancient ghat on the banks of the Narmada shimmered under the golden light of Kartik Purnima. Clay lamps floated silently on the water like drifting prayers, their flames barely flickering in the still air. Pilgrims descended the wide, weathered stone steps in silence or chant, some with folded palms, some with copper pots brimming with sacred water. The Deshmukh family, visiting from Pune, stood together at the edge of the ghat. Vinay adjusted his spectacles while Malini held tightly onto their youngest daughter Ahalya’s wrist. The girl, all of eight years old, was already tugging away—drawn…

  • English - Horror

    Chalk Outline

    Nikita Kaul 1 The first time Tanvi Mehra heard about the chalk outline was during her third day at St. Augustine’s Residential Academy for Girls. It was whispered between two girls in the library, their voices low but their eyes flickering with unmistakable fear. The words “outline,” “disappears,” and “Ragini” caught Tanvi’s attention like hooks in water. She leaned further behind the old geography shelf, heart thudding—not from belief, but curiosity. She had transferred here from Delhi after a messy school suspension and an even messier stepfather situation. Her mother called this place a “fresh start.” Tanvi called it a…

  • English - Horror

    The Curse of Kundalpur

    Niranjan Pathak Nina Kapoor’s heart raced as the dusty roads of Rajasthan stretched endlessly before her, each turn taking her deeper into the forgotten heart of the desert. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the desolate landscape, turning the world into a haze of orange and pink. Nina, a young historian from Delhi, had come here with a single purpose: to investigate the ancient ruins of the Shivani Mata Temple, a place shrouded in mystery and steeped in legend. The village she arrived in, Kundalpur, was a relic of a bygone era. It lay at the edge…

  • English - Horror

    The Ghats of Midnight

    Chapter 1: Arrival at the Ghat Tarak Nath Tripathi stepped off the rickety auto-rickshaw with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his thesis notes clutched tightly in a cracked leather folder. The heat clung to his skin like a second garment, thick with smoke and the smell of burning sandalwood, flesh, and Ganges water. He stood at the edge of the Manikarnika Ghat, watching the sacred river flow as if it had no memory of the centuries it carried. Bodies wrapped in saffron cloth were being carried down the steps by chanting pallbearers, while others burned on pyres whose…

  • English - Horror

    The Tamarind Curse

    Malabika Roy 1 Dr. Madhurima Sen had never heard of Adiganahalli until the envelope arrived—unmarked, yellowing, and sealed with an old wax crest that had nearly dissolved into the paper itself. Inside was a legal note handwritten in Kannada, barely decipherable, informing her that a small parcel of ancestral land and an attached cottage had been passed down to her name through her maternal grandmother’s side. Curious more than anything else, Madhurima contacted the village registrar. The man on the phone sounded both surprised and reluctant. “You can come,” he had said slowly, “but don’t expect anyone to welcome you…

  • English - Horror

    The House on Baraf Bagh Street

    Arundhuti Basu Chapter 1: It was the kind of cold that crept under your skin and settled in the bones—a Lucknow winter that made the air brittle and the silence of Baraf Bagh Street even more unnerving. Saswata Mehta arrived at dusk, his suitcase in one hand and a stack of crumpled manuscript pages in the other. The mansion stood like a forgotten relic—its yellowing façade blotched with moss, tall arched windows sealed shut, and wooden eaves sagging under decades of neglect. The gate creaked in protest as he pushed it open, a cry so human it made him pause.…

  • English - Horror

    The Curse of Kalapahad

    Amitava Dasgupta Chapter 1 High in the mist-wrapped hills of the Western Ghats, where the dense forests whispered old secrets and the air carried the tang of moss and rain-wet stone, stood the ruin of St. Thomas’s Church. The church had once served a small colonial outpost in the 1800s, built atop what locals called Kalapahad — Black Hill — a place they had always regarded with quiet dread. Now, over a century later, it was little more than a crumbling shell of stone, its bell tower broken, its arched windows gaping like blind eyes. The jungle had begun to…