Ghost stories from India

The Hollow Current

I never believed in the old stories about the Blackwood Reservoir. Nestled in the folds of the Vermont hills, it was a place of serene beauty during the day, its...

The Rusted Lever

My introduction to Aunt Rania’s home was through a long, dusty road that cut through a wasteland of cracked earth and skeletal shrubs. The house itself was a tired, two-story...

The Blue Vein of Ghalib

I have always been a skeptic. Even as a child, I demanded proof before I believed in anything—ghosts, gods, or the stories my grandmother whispered about the mountains. But what...

The Ceramic Fish

My father, a retired army officer, had always been a man of logic and discipline. When we moved to the coastal town of Visakhapatnam after his service, he chose a...

The Hollow Gram of Kolhapur

Inspector Arjun Deshmukh had spent the last three hours in a windowless conference room, the air thick with stale coffee and the drone of his superior’s voice. The meeting was...

The Grip of the Aadhaar

Ananya had never believed in ghosts. As a child in her family’s ancestral home in Varanasi, she’d scoffed at the stories of wandering spirits that her grandmother told her. But...

The Cinder Block Accord

The monsoon had been relentless that year, turning the grounds around the temporary shelters into a slick of mud and rust-colored water. The shelters themselves were long, single-story structures of...

The Weeping Fig

In 1972, my family moved from a cramped apartment in the heart of Hyderabad to a new house on the city’s edge, where the buildings gave way to scrubland and...

The Grey Tiles

It was a night that hung heavy with the smell of rain-soaked concrete and burnt coffee, the kind of night that makes a person question their life choices. I was...

The Ink That Breathes

It was a Tuesday evening when my world tilted on its axis. I was in the study, reviewing blueprints for the new bridge project, while my daughter, Mira, tackled her...

The Sixth Door

The evening had settled over the Chawla Colony like a gray blanket, muffling the sounds of the city into a distant hum. My parents had taken my younger brothers to...

The Glass Mannequin

The house was a Victorian relic, pressed between newer, sleeker homes like a fossil in a quarry. My brother, Adrian, had rented it for its solitude, a place to finish...

The Last Kite

In the autumn of 1978, the old mill town of Ridley Falls was a maze of brick tenements and shared courtyards. My grandmother, Elara, lived in one of those connected...

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