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

Order Now   " Bhoota Gappa- Part 1 " : Watch The Trailer!! " Bhoota Gappa- Part 2 " :  Watch The Trailer!! Tell us more about the success of Bhoota Gappa?   Sure, the first part was a huge success, I am grateful to all my supporters of JustUtter community, my Odia community across the globe for such warm response. Around 200 copies have been sold at a global level and it has won the heart of millions of young horror lovers by being the best seller in recent "World Book Fair"held on Pragati Maidan, New Delhi as well as the "Goa Book Fair" via  Notion Press and Kharido Becho Shopping.   I am really grateful of this success of bringing the young and older  mass to again be excited of book reading after so long. WOW that's amazing, So What is Part 2 all about? "Bhoota Gappa Part 2" is an extended version of the first part, where the story of Azagka and her siblings continue to be more and more intertwined between parallel wo...

I sprinted through the echoing corridors of IIT Kharagpur, my breath ragged, my heart a trapped bird hammering against my ribs. The cold tile beneath my feet blurred as I pushed myself faster, desperate for the solitude of the terrace. System Engineering. Mechanics. Two red slashes across my academic record, each a brand seared into my soul. Hope, the fragile butterfly I’d carried for so long, had finally given up, its wings crumbling to dust. I knew, with a chilling certainty, that I would never reach the heights I had dreamed of. The terrace doors swung open with a groan, revealing the vast, star-studded sky. The wind whipped at my face, a cold caress that mirrored the emptiness inside me. I walked to the edge, the drop a dizzying invitation. "Where are you off to?" The voice, a low murmur from behind me, made me jump. I whirled around, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. He was a senior, I recognized him from a few pictures I have seen of him from our hostel...

    A mansion, opulent and imposing, now stood where generations of homes had risen and crumbled. Beneath its foundations lay the ghosts of lives lived, a tapestry of joy and, more often, the jagged edges of tragedy. Each brick whispered stories of previous inhabitants, their laughter echoing in the empty halls, their tears staining the very mortar. Death, a constant companion, had stalked these grounds for centuries. One such tale clung to the newly erected walls, the story of a teenage girl visiting her uncle for his housewarming. Her own home, a humble cottage near the fish-filled pond in Jagatsinghpur, Odisha, felt a world away from this sprawling edifice. In her village, an ancient belief persisted: no one should sleep alone in a new house until cleansing rituals had been performed, banishing any lingering spirits trapped within its walls. This new house, however, was smaller than her uncle’s previous residence, and her aunt, overwhelmed by the prospect of hosting n...

   I hail from Murshidabad in Bengal. My story begins during the wedding of my tutor, where I stayed for three days. A mental hospital stood ominously close to her house. She repeatedly warned me to disregard any unusual noises or occurrences, but one afternoon, I stepped out onto her balcony, shirtless. Returning to the room, I fell asleep alone. Around 1 AM, a sound jolted me awake. In the dim moonlight, I saw a figure standing near my bed. The man's face was a grotesque mask of blood and scratches, and saliva dripped from his lips. I feigned sleep, terrified as he watched me with unsettling intensity. Suddenly, he vanished. But a chilling sensation washed over me. I felt a presence behind me, breathing heavily and making guttural sounds. I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move. Desperate, I began chanting the Hanuman Chalisa, my voice trembling. The morning call to prayer, the azan, finally broke the spell. The presence was gone. I immediately contacted my relatives and f...

ଓଡ଼ିଶାର ଜଟାନୀରେ ଥିବା ମୋ ବନ୍ଧୁଙ୍କ ଘରୁ ଫେରିବା ସମଯ଼ରେ ମୁଁ ରାସ୍ତା ହରାଇଥିଲି। ମୁଁ ମୋ ସାଇକେଲ୍ ଚଳାଇ ଏକ କମ୍ ରକ୍ଷଣାବେକ୍ଷଣ, କାଦୁଅ ରାସ୍ତା ନେଇଥିଲି। ମୁଁ ଦୂରରେ ଏକ ପୁରୁଣା, ଲମ୍ବା ବଟବୃକ୍ଷ ଦେଖିପାରିଲି। ଯେତେବେଳେ ମୁଁ ପାଖରେ ପହଞ୍ଚିଲି, ମୁଁ ଦେଖିଲି ଯେ ଏକ ଖାଲି ଲୁପ୍ ସହିତ ଏକ ଦଉଡ଼ି ଝୁଲୁଛି, ଜୋରରେ ଝୁଲୁଛି ଯେପରି କେହି ଏହାକୁ ନିକଟରେ ବ୍ଯ଼ବହାର କରୁଛନ୍ତି | ଗଛର ଶାଖାଗୁଡ଼ିକ ବହୁତ ମୋଟା ଏବଂ ବୁଦାଳିଆ ଥିଲା | ସୂର୍ଯ୍ଯ଼ାସ୍ତ ପାଖେଇ ଆସୁଥିବା ବେଳେ ଅନ୍ଧାର ମୋ ଆଖିରେ କୌଶଳ ଖେଳିଲା। ମୁଁ ବେଳେବେଳେ ଭାବୁଥିଲି ଯେ ମୁଁ ଶାଖାଗୁଡ଼ିକରେ ମୁହଁ ଦେଖୁଛି, କିନ୍ତୁ ସେଗୁଡ଼ିକୁ ଆଲୋକ ଦ୍ୱାରା ସୃଷ୍ଟି ହୋଇଥିବା ଭ୍ରମ ବୋଲି ପ୍ରତ୍ଯ଼ାଖ୍ଯ଼ାନ କଲି। ହଠାତ୍, ମୁଁ ଅନୁଭବ କଲି ଯେ କେହି ମୋତେ ପଛରୁ ଧରୁଛି। ମୁଁ କାହାକୁ ଦେଖିପାରିଲି ନାହିଁ, କିନ୍ତୁ ଅନୁଭବଟି ବାସ୍ତବ ଥିଲା। ମୁଁ ପବିତ୍ର ମନ୍ତ୍ର ଜପ କରିବା ଆରମ୍ଭ କଲି ଏବଂ ଗତି ବଢ଼େଇଲି। ଯେତେବେଳେ ମୁଁ ପଛକୁ ଚାହିଁଲି, ମୁଁ ଦେଖିଲି କେହି ଜଣେ ଦଉଡ଼ିରେ ଝୁଲୁଛନ୍ତି, ସେମାନଙ୍କର କେଶ ସାଧାରଣ ଅପେକ୍ଷା ଲମ୍ବା, ସିଧାସଳଖ ମୋ ଆଡ଼କୁ ଚାହିଁ ରହିଛନ୍ତି। ଭଯ଼ଭୀତ ହୋଇ ମୁଁ ନିଯ଼ନ୍ତ୍ରଣ ହରାଇ ଦୌଡ଼ିବା ଆରମ୍ଭ କଲି। ମୁଁ ଦେଖିଲି ଜଣେ ବ୍ଯ଼କ୍ତି ଏକ କଳା ଶାଲ ଓଢ଼ୀକୀରି ଠିଆ ହୋଇ ମୋତେ ହାଥ ହଲେଇକି ଡାକୁଚୀ, ଜେମେତି ମୁଁ ପାଖକୁ ଗଲି ଅନୁଭବ କଲି ...

It was the witching hour, 1:00 am, in Raghurajpur, a village famed for the art of pattachitra, when my grandma, along with a fellow villager, embarked on a bone-chilling journey. Their destination: the Kali Puja nearby, but their path, a shortcut through the jungle, was shrouded in an inky blackness, pierced only by their flickering oil lamp. The air hung heavy, thick with the cloying scent of decay and the unsettling silence broken only by the occasional rustle in the unseen undergrowth. Looming ahead, a dilapidated palace, a skeletal silhouette against the starless sky, whispered of a bygone era of opulence. It was here, amidst the crumbling grandeur, that they spotted a flicker of light in the distance. Relief washed over them – perhaps other devotees on their way to the puja. But as they drew closer, a surge of primal terror coursed through their veins. The light emanated not from a fellow pilgrim, but from a creature of nightmare. A monstrous entity, a giant fireball with no eyes,...

The train from Shillong to Kolkata was agonizingly late. Our two families, eight souls in total, including me at thirteen, were crammed into a single taxi at midnight. The driver, a greasy, sweating figure, insisted I move closer. Then, his hand clamped over mine, forcing it onto his damp, fleshy thigh. A slick, repulsive substance oozed beneath my fingers. Bile rose in my throat. I was being violated, exposed in front of my own family, trapped in the suffocating confines of the taxi. As soon as the taxi lurched to a halt, I scrambled into the backseat, my body shaking uncontrollably. Sleep offered no escape. A shadow of shame clung to me, a constant, sickening presence. Then, a ghastly blue light pulsed from the electrical outlet in the room where I lay, shivering beneath a thin sheet. My legs turned to ice. The driver's voice, thick and leering, slithered through the air. I stumbled to the door and opened it. He stood bathed in the eerie blue glow, his eyes fixed on me, a predato...