• English - Suspense

    The Guest Room

    July 24, 2025 - By 

    Niyati Sharma The Perfect Escape The road to Rose Hollow curved like a question mark through the misty ridges of the Lake District. Fog clung to the narrow lanes like a hush that had forgotten how to lift. Alice kept her eyes on the pine-shaded drive as Tom navigated their little rented hatchback past an iron gate that creaked open without assistance. The gravel crunched beneath their tyres as the house came into view. “That’s… beautiful,” Alice said, finally breaking the silence. The cottage was postcard-perfect—stone walls laced with ivy, a red-tiled roof sloping under decades of moss, and two…

  • English - Suspense

    The Elevator Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore

    July 24, 2025 - By 

    Part 1 – The 47th Floor The first thing Maya Collins noticed about the 47th floor was the silence. Not the kind that came from focused minds or noise-cancelling walls. This silence was thick. Artificial. Like the air itself held its breath. The elevator pinged softly behind her, then slid shut with a whisper. She turned to face the floor. Rows of polished glass offices stretched in clean symmetry. Frosted doors. Sleek desks. Not a single paper out of place. No chatter. No laughter. Just the rhythmic hum of overhead LEDs and the distant murmur of printers working alone. Maya…

  • English - Suspense

    The Vanishing at Vaitarna

    July 22, 2025 - By 

    Sourendra Kumar The envelope was old, yellowed at the edges, and bore no return address. Just her name — Kavya Rao — scrawled in ink that had smudged ever so slightly, as if the writer’s hands had trembled. It had arrived amidst a stack of predictable mail — utility bills, press invites, and a food delivery coupon — but the moment Kavya touched it, something shifted. Inside was a faded black-and-white photograph of a mist-covered river and a torn note in careful block letters: “They never left — they were taken. Vaitarna doesn’t forget.” She stared at the image. The…

  • English - Suspense

    By Order of the Goddess

    July 13, 2025 - By 

    Kritika Nayak 1 The first body was found at dawn, sprawled beneath the ancient banyan that stood like a sentinel at the village’s edge. A ring of vermillion dust, turmeric paste, and burnt hibiscus petals encircled the corpse, meticulously drawn like a sacred yantra. Her eyes had been closed gently, palms folded over her chest, and a curved knife still rested between her fingers. Carved into her bare skin were symbols that hadn’t been seen in generations—spirals, flames, and a crescent moon that bled red. The villagers gathered in hushed awe, not terror. “The Devi has returned,” someone whispered, voice…

  • English - Suspense

    The Mind Behind the Mask

    July 10, 2025 - By 

    Amartya Basu   Part 1: The First Message Kolkata was restless that night. The damp air of the city clung to the streets, wrapped in the hazy fog that seemed to linger long after the evening rains had passed. In the quiet alleys of South Kolkata, the hum of the traffic was replaced by the distant cry of a night bird and the flicker of streetlights casting long shadows. It was in one such alley, in the decrepit building of Pataldanga, where the first message was left. Detective Anirban Ghosh stood in the doorway of the apartment, his gaze fixed…

  • Crime - English - Suspense

    A Death in Dariba

    July 5, 2025 - By 

    Mayank Sufi Part 1: The Man in the Silver Kurta The lanes of Dariba Kalan in Old Delhi were quiet that morning, quieter than usual. The scent of ittar still hung in the air like the memory of a lover’s touch, but the shops had yet to roll up their shutters. It was barely 6:30 a.m. when a rickshaw-wala, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, noticed something odd in front of Ibrahim & Sons — Jewelers Since 1837. A man lay face-down, slumped against the closed shutter, silver kurta crumpled, a faint red trail soaking into the dust…

  • Bangla - কল্পবিজ্ঞান

    নিউরন ৭২৭

    July 4, 2025 - By 

    তন্ময় চৌধুরী এক সেকেন্ডের ভবিষ্যৎ বিকেলের আলোটা আজ যেন কেমন অস্বাভাবিক। ল্যাবের জানালা দিয়ে বাইরের সূর্যের ঝাঁঝালো ছায়া এসে রিশভের চোখে পড়ছে, কিন্তু সে পলকও ফেলছে না। তার সামনে রাখা কম্পিউটার স্ক্রিনে ভেসে উঠছে EEG সিগন্যালের তরঙ্গচিত্র—একটা নির্দিষ্ট জায়গায় আবার কাঁপছে, একটানা। নিউরন ৭২৭। পাঁচ বছর ধরে যেটার অস্তিত্ব নিয়েই সন্দেহ ছিল, আজ সেটা কেবল দৃশ্যমান নয়, বরং সাড়া দিচ্ছে। “রিশভ, তুমি নিশ্চিত তো এটা আর্টিফ্যাক্ট নয়?”—পাশ থেকে বলল প্রিয়া, তার সহকারি গবেষক। “না প্রিয়া,”—রিশভ গম্ভীর গলায় বলল,—“তিন বার চেক করেছি। তিন বারই এই একই নিউরনে অস্বাভাবিক এক্টিভিটি। তবে সবচেয়ে অদ্ভুত বিষয়টা এখনো বলিনি।” সে এক টান দিয়ে এক কাপ…

  • 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 - Suspense

    The Red Room Number 9

    July 1, 2025 - By 

    1 The lobby smelled of fresh orchids and expensive silence. Maya D’Souza pulled her oversized sunglasses lower over her nose, scanning the opulence of the Ocean View Grand, Mumbai’s most luxurious hotel. A chandelier hung like a frozen explosion of crystal above her, refracting shards of morning light across the marble floor. She hated places like this. Too clean, too cold, too rich. But today, she had no choice. “Reservation under Reema Sen,” she told the receptionist, her voice neutral. The name belonged to a woman who didn’t exist, created last night using a forged Aadhaar and a prepaid number.…

  • English - Suspense

    13 Steps to the Rooftop

    June 30, 2025 - By 

    Armaan Lahiri The rain came early that year. Not the lazy monsoon drizzle that made the city dreamy—but a sharp, relentless downpour that beat against the windowpanes of hostel room 3C like an accusation. Rishi Banerjee sat cross-legged on his metal cot, headphones dangling around his neck, eyes scanning a half-scribbled cheat sheet for his thermodynamics viva. The fluorescent tube above flickered in protest, then stabilized, bathing the cracked walls in pale blue. It was past midnight, and the corridor was quiet—eerily so. Even the usual hum of snoring from room 3B had gone still. That’s when he noticed it.…