Ghost stories from India

The Last Hollow Light

Maya and her older brother, Arjun, worked the evening shift at a telemarketing firm in the coastal city of Visakhapatnam. Every Wednesday was their day off, so on Tuesday nights...

The Grey Ascension

The storm had turned the sky into a bruised, weeping wound, and the old tenement on Maple Street groaned under the assault of rain and wind. Mira and her younger...

The Weight of Stillness

The summer of my twelfth year was a held breath. My father’s transfer to Khajuraho had come through, and we were to leave our small town of Chhindwara in three...

The Attic Door

My wife, Elena, and I had just finished renovating the small ground-floor flat we’d inherited from her grandmother. It was a little two-bedroom in the old quarter of the city,...

The Salt Harvest

My grandmother’s ancestral home in the Sundarbans had always felt like a place out of time, a crumbling mansion on a plot of land that the government had decided to...

The Weeping Marble

I remember the night it happened, not because I wanted to, but because some things refuse to stay buried. We were in a crumbling guesthouse on the outskirts of Fatehpur...

The Call at Gate 12

My first brush with the uncanny happened when I was twelve, and the memory clings to me like a cold draft that follows no window. My father had died when...

The Key in the Clay

The village of Munnar’s edge, where the tea plants gave way to dense forest, was a place that held its breath. My family had lived there for generations, in a...

The Lantern’s Debt

In the autumn of 2018, I found myself traveling to the remote village of Ashford Hollow for my cousin’s wedding. The village was nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, and the...

The Last Drift

The air in Bangalore in 2011 carried a peculiar heaviness, a pregnant stillness that seemed to swallow sound before it could travel. I was twenty-five, a software engineer with a...

The Weeping Tamarind

My grandmother used to tell me stories that would make the hair on my arms stand up, but none terrified me as much as the one about her elder sister,...

The Weeping Well

It was the summer of 2021, and I was staying at my Aunt Marta’s farmhouse in the remote village of Ashwick. The place was surrounded by dense, ancient woods, and...

The Marigold Message

The dream always began the same way: an endless, velvet dark, so thick it felt like a physical weight against my eyelids. Then, a voice, not quite a sound, more...

The Hollow Brick

It was the summer of 2019 when I, Arjun, along with my mother and younger sister, Priya, moved from the bustling heart of Kolkata to a quiet, almost forgotten suburb...

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