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

Narrated by my school friend from Carmel Convent School, Rourkela - Sonal Ekka, this story will be published in my coming soon "Bhoota Gappa" series, so this story is on just for tonight, as I launch the trailer of Part 3 of "Bhoota Gappa" JustUtter Horror Series. This incident happened to my Dadi (grandmother), years ago, in our village near Rajgangpur. One evening, she had gone to visit a friend in a neighboring part of the village. It was already a bit late by the time she was returning. In our village, there's an old belief: never shout or say goodbye loudly after dusk. Especially phrases like “I’ll come visit you again” or “Let’s meet again soon”—it’s said that spirits listen, and they accept the invitation. As she left, her friend, being casual and cheerful, shouted after her: “I’ll come visit you next time at your place!” And my grandmother, smiling, replied back: “Yes, do come!” That night, everything seemed normal. There was no electricity back then, on...

   "Where curses were cast… and one soul was spared.." “Beta,” the old man said, his eyes never leaving the old well, “you’ve heard tales that we vanished out of fear. But that’s only part of the truth. We didn’t run. We cursed.” The girl clutched her shawl tighter. The red moon loomed overhead like a silent omen. “Salim Singh,” he whispered, “was no man. He was a leech—power-hungry, wicked, obsessed with the chief’s daughter. When we refused to hand her over, he threatened to return with swords and soldiers.” That’s when the village elders made a decision. “We’d rather burn than bow.” The Brahmins gathered that night. They drew circles in the dirt, chanted forgotten names, and opened something no man should ever open. A dark portal, fed by their fury, their heartbreak, their rage. “And we trapped him in it,” the old man said, voice cracking. “His body twisted. His face melted into shadow. But he didn’t go down alone…” The magic backfired. The land itself began to...

In the forgotten summer of 2001, the village of Mangalajodi held its breath every nightfall. A towering banyan tree, known only as "the cursed root," loomed at the village's edge. Locals whispered that a possessed girl, a child of unholy rage, had once slaughtered 21 souls beneath its shade, just days before Dussehra. Since then, no sane being dared near it after sunset. Except for one — Mr. Raghunath Pradhan, the newly transferred physics teacher at the village school. Skeptical of village superstitions, Raghunath believed only in the laws of nature. One evening, after a late extra class for his senior students, he decided to cut across the fields, past the haunted tree, to save time. As he neared the Mangalajodi Tree, the air thickened. His flashlight flickered. A low humming filled his ears, growing louder with every step. Suddenly, a shriek — bone-chilling and blood-curdling — tore through the night. Frozen, Raghunath watched in horror as a figure emerged from the hol...