JustUtter 2Min Horror Stories: A Book Series "Bhoota Gappa"

ମୁଁ ଟ୍ରେନ୍ ଷ୍ଟେସନକୁ ଦୌଡ଼ି ଯାଇ ଶେଷ ଲୋକାଲ୍ କୁ ମୋ ଘରକୁ ସକାଳ 2:00 ରେ ଫେରିଲି, ଗ୍ରାହକଙ୍କ ସହ ଏକ ବୈଠକ ବୃଦ୍ଧି ପାଇଥିଲା। ଏହା ପ୍ରାଯ଼ତଃ ଏକ ଖାଲି ଟ୍ରେନ୍ ଥିଲା, ମୋ ଭଳି କିଛି ଯାତ୍ରୀ ବିଳମ୍ବିତ ରାତି ସିଫ୍ଟରୁ ଫେରୁଛନ୍ତି। ମୁମ୍ବାଇର ସବୁଠାରୁ ଭଲ ଅଂଶ ହେଉଛି ଏହା ଅତ୍ଯ଼ନ୍ତ ବିରଳ ଯେ ଆପଣ ସମସ୍ତେ ଏକୁଟିଆ ରହିବେ | ମୁଁ ମୋ ଷ୍ଟେସନକୁ ବାହାରିଲି, ଏବଂ ମୋ ଆପାର୍ଟମେଣ୍ଟ 15-20 ମିନିଟର ପାଦରେ ଥିବାରୁ ଚାଲିବାକୁ ଯୋଜନା କରୁଥିଲି। ବର୍ତ୍ତମାନ ଏହି ସମଯ଼ରେ ଷ୍ଟେସନଟି ପ୍ରାଯ଼ତଃ ଖାଲି ଥିଲା, ମୁଁ ବାହାରକୁ ପାଦ ପକେଇବା ମାତ୍ରେ, ମୁଁ ଏକ ଦୂରର ଚିତ୍କାର ଶୁଣିଲି, ଯାହା ମୋତେ ଚକିତ କରିଦେଇଥିଲା, କାରଣ ଏହା ଏକାସାଙ୍ଗରେ ଏକାଧିକ ମହିଳା ଚିତ୍କାର କରୁଥିବା ପରି ଅନୁଭବ କଲା, ମୁଁ ମୋର ସାହସ ସଂଗ୍ରହ କଲି ଏବଂ ଧୀରେ ଧୀରେ ଚାଲିଗଲି | ପ୍ରତିଦିନ ଷ୍ଟେସନରେ ମୁଁ ରାଧା ନାମକ ମୋର ଟ୍ରାନ୍ସଜେଣ୍ଡର ବନ୍ଧୁଙ୍କୁ ଭେଟିଥିଲି, ସେ ମୁମ୍ବାଇରେ ବର୍ଷା ସମଯ଼ରେ ମୋତେ ସାହାଯ୍ଯ଼ କରିଛନ୍ତି, ବିଦ୍ଯ଼ୁତ୍ ବିଭ୍ରାଟ, ମୁଁ ଯେତେବେଳେ ନୂଆ ଥିଲି ସେତେବେଳେ ଟିକେଟ୍ କାଉଣ୍ଟରକୁ ମୋର ରାସ୍ତା ଖୋଜିବାକୁ ଚେଷ୍ଟା କରୁଥିଲି, ଏବଂ ଏହା ଆମ ମଧ୍ଯ଼ରେ ଏକ ସଂଲଗ୍ନତା ସୃଷ୍ଟି କରିଥିଲା, ସେ ଆସି ମୋତେ ଏକ ଉଷ୍ମ ହସ ସହିତ ସ୍ୱାଗତ କରୁଥିଲେ, ଏବଂ ମୁଁ କାମ କରିବାକୁ ଯେତେ ବିଳମ୍ବ ହେଉନା କାହିଁକି, ମୁଁ ତାଙ୍କୁ 10 ଟଙ୍କାର ନୋ...

A creeping dread clings to me, a shadow not my own, a phantom limb of a forgotten past. It’s not simply following; it’s burrowing into me. I feel its phantom nails raking across my skin, a constant, agonizing itch that no amount of scratching can relieve. It shoves, not with force, but with insidious pressure, a relentless push against my sanity. It’s as if it’s trying to bore through me, to create hollow spaces inside where only its presence can reside. The pain is a constant, gnawing companion. When I try to speak, to beg for understanding, a searing lance of agony pierces my eye, blinding me momentarily. Then comes the whispering campaign, the insidious lies it weaves about me, twisting my past into a monstrous caricature. It whispers that I once pushed someone, a single act twisted into a lifetime of malice. Now, this… thing has returned to repay the debt, to push back, to pinch and torment until I’m a broken husk. It doesn’t just follow; it invades. It drowns me in my ...

The storm raged, a relentless battering against the cheap motel that held me captive. My early flight loomed, a cruel promise of dawn I desperately needed the tempest to fulfill. Only then could I stomach the prospect of the greasy spoon down the highway. A sharp rap at my door shattered the tense silence. I flung it open, but the hallway remained empty, swallowed by the storm’s roar. Then, another knock, this time at the window. The rain lashed against the glass, a distorted lens obscuring the source. Through the watery veil, I discerned something pale and thin – a finger, perhaps, pressed against the pane, the rest of the figure a blurred, indistinct mass. Abruptly, the rain ceased, leaving a suffocating stillness in its wake. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I threw on my raincoat and ventured into the hallway. There, crimson droplets marred the faded carpet, a gruesome trail as if some limb had been severed by a brutal, clean cut. I saw the front desk clerk, her face conto...

A bone-chilling draft snaked through the rented flat in Delhi, a stark contrast to the stifling summer heat. The only relief came from the balcony, a narrow concrete ledge overlooking a sight that sent shivers down my spine – a dilapidated house shrouded in an unnatural darkness. It had been abandoned for years, a skeletal silhouette against the dying embers of the city's twilight. One night, returning from a particularly grueling business meeting, I glanced at the house as if compelled by an unseen force. My breath caught in my throat. A young girl, no older than fifteen, stood silhouetted against the moonlit sky, her white dress billowing in the non-existent breeze. Panic clawed at my throat. This deserted house, this spectral figure – it couldn't be real. "Who's there?" I croaked, my voice hoarse in the oppressive silence. "What are you doing there?" The words tumbled out, desperate and disjointed. But before I could finish my question, a ...

On a frigid winter night, a woman sat alone on the desolate platform, the skeletal frame of the station stark against the inky sky. She lit a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating the hollows of her face. The biting wind whipped around her, yet beneath her grandmother's shawl, a deceptive sense of calm settled. Then, through the grimy glass of the platform doors, a figure emerged. A familiar silhouette. A ghost from her past. A man she had once loved with a desperate, all-consuming passion. Now, his presence ignited a chilling dread, the unwelcome echo of a love she thought long buried. Her pulse quickened, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. For a fleeting, panicked moment, she fumbled in her bag for a comb and mirror, a futile attempt to compose herself before the inevitable confrontation. But the man walked past, his gaze never landing on her. He stopped before another woman – a stranger, utterly unlike her – and kissed her. The kiss was deep, possessive, a brutal display o...

    Our adventure trip, a group of friends and I, began in a vehicle unlike any other – mine. This marvel of engineering could be both pulled and pushed, adapting to the demands of the terrain. It resembled a monstrous GMC Hummer EV Edition, boasting a staggering 1000 horsepower and a mind-boggling 11,500 lb-ft of torque. Our destination: a remote, ancient village nestled on the fringes of the Bengal border. The journey was a nightmare from the outset. The roads, mere tracks through shifting sand dunes, twisted and turned like a labyrinth as we penetrated the village. The inhabitants, diminutive and unsettling with their pointed teeth, watched our arrival with palpable hostility. Then, disaster struck. One of them, with a chilling ferocity, bit our beloved dog, Toby, inflicting a gruesome wound. Panic seized us. Dr. Dev Kumar, the village veterinarian, resided in a dilapidated cottage at the maze's end. We had to reach him. As we pressed on, the sky turned an omino...