It was sometime between 1985 and 1990. I was a small boy studying at Bishop Westcott Boys' School in Ranchi—an old, towering institution with long, echoing corridors and a haunting silence that clung to its corners after dark. There was a particular toilet block in the far wing of the school—unused, broken, and abandoned. No one ever went near it. Not even the cleaners. It was darker than the rest, gloomier, dirtier... almost as if the grime itself was hiding something. A heavy metal door sealed it shut, rusted and stiff, the kind that groaned when the wind pushed it ever so slightly. One night, after returning late from a summer fest, I felt the sudden urge to use the bathroom. Groggy and half-asleep, I wandered down the hallway. Right in front of me stood the old, abandoned toilet—and just beside it, the newly constructed one, clean and brightly lit. But for some strange reason... I ignored the new one. I don’t know why. It was as if something pulled me toward the old door. My bo...
This site comprises of "2minhorrorstories", true experiences of horror, supernatural, dark magic experienced by individuals like you and me, in and around rural areas. Short Stories narrated by your grandparents, your parents, your uncle, your distant cousin, your hostel warden, your building's security guard, your childhood friends, while standing in the parking lot, while covered in warm quilt during a cold winter night, or while drinking warm tea standing in the corner of the market street.