Ghost stories from India

The Sunken Garden

Mira was eleven when her mother’s car went off the cliff road, the sea swallowing the wreckage whole. After that, her father, Elias, became a ghost in their cliffside house,...

The Last Wave

In the autumn of 2016, our engineering college in Chennai was buzzing with the upcoming inter-college football tournament. My friend, Arjun, a talented midfielder, was selected to represent our college...

The Cardboard Clock

The clock on the wall of the lodge room had stopped at 2:47 AM. I noticed it when I first entered, the second hand twitching uselessly against the cracked plastic...

The Cane Field Vigil

In the sweltering summer of 1957, in the dusty outskirts of a city that was still stretching its limbs into the modern era, there lived a young man named Arjun....

The Last Polaroid

In the summer of 2003, I was fourteen, and my world was the dusty roads that snaked out of our small town of Solace Creek, past the last gas station,...

The Whistling Wall

Three years ago, my sister Priya moved with her family to the old industrial town of Jamshedpur, in India, after accepting a senior position at a steel manufacturing firm. Her...

The Loom of Ash

My name is Arjun, and I live with my wife, Meera, in a small town in Kerala called Alappuzha, known for its backwaters and dense coconut groves. We moved here...

The Harvester’s Contract

I never believed in ghosts. Not really. The stories my grandmother told, the warnings from the village elders—they were just tales to scare children into obedience. But what I witnessed...

The Rusted Pendulum

The Choudhary family had occupied the fifteenth floor of the Nimbus Residency for nearly a decade, but it was the fourteenth floor that held their home. The building itself was...

The Last Fare

The rain came down in relentless sheets, drumming a frantic rhythm on the rusted tin roof of the bus shelter. I huddled in the corner, my camera bag pressed against...

The Marmalade Jar

In the autumn of 2016, I returned from a wearying assignment in Kolkata to my ancestral flat in Mumbai, hoping to recover my equilibrium. My grandmother, Ammaji, was failing, her...

The Tenant in Room 7

The purchase was finalized in late August, a sweltering afternoon when the city itself seemed to hold its breath. My parents, thrilled with the deal, signed the papers without a...

The Locked Door

I’ve always been a man of logic. Ghosts, spirits, the supernatural—these were concepts I dismissed as the fancies of overactive imaginations or the byproducts of fear. My name is Arjun,...

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