Ghost stories from India

The Last Gaslight

It was the summer of 1982 when my grandfather, a retired railway engineer, invited us to his ancestral home in the foothills of the Himalayas. The village of Kalapani was...

The Last Ferry

Arjun, a final-year architecture student, and his childhood friend Vikram, who ran a small organic farm, often met late at night to escape their busy days. They preferred the quiet...

The Red Thread

The house in Kodaikanal had always been a place of escape for me, a hill station retreat owned by my aunt. But this time, the escape felt like a trap....

The Maintenance Locker

It was a humid Tuesday in late August when I started working the night shift at the Meridian Data Center, a sprawling facility on the outskirts of Austin. Most people...

The Last Toll

The service camp in Chandrapur had been a grind of oily engines and haggling farmers, but the promise of a hot meal and a roadside bar in the town of...

The Lobby Light

Maya had always been a practical woman, a logistics coordinator for a shipping company in Visakhapatnam, a city of hills and sea. Her job was a blur of docks, warehouses,...

The Hanging Mist

I was seven the summer my grandmother’s cousin came to stay. Her name was Rukmini, and she had come from the village with her two children—a girl of eleven named...

Disturbing Nights

It was my regular summer holiday visit to my mom’s native along with my brothers. Just like every year the summer holidays was fun… We live (family) in down south...

The Gravity Well

The night was a thick, oily black, the kind that seems to swallow headlights whole. I was driving back from Nasik, my shoulders aching from hours at the wheel, but...

The Unseen Conductor

As a boy, I’d fallen asleep to my grandmother’s tales of restless spirits and phantom trains that ran on moonlit tracks. I’d lie awake, straining to hear the whistle of...

The Cobalt Room

I never believed in ghosts until I spent a summer in the old Jenkins house. My name is Arjun Mehta, and my family had just moved to the sleepy town...

The Salt on the Sill

The house on Maplewood Lane had been our home for six months, and I was beginning to suspect it was not empty. My husband, Daniel, a man who trusted only...

The Fourth Floor

I was the kind of man who laughed at fear. Six feet two, two hundred twenty pounds of muscle earned from years of hauling cement bags at my uncle’s construction...

The Hollow Stair

In the sweltering July of 1987, my father, Marcus, was just seventeen. He and his three friends—Leo, Desmond, and quiet Paul—had pitched their tents near the base of the Rocky...

Ghost Stories by categories

Ghost Stories by countries

⚡ WILLOW LIVE
Listening for whispers in the dark...
Real-Time Whispers Stream
REAL-TIME

Listening to the woods...