Storyteller

प्रकाशित: DarkChapters | जुलाई 2025 > कुछ कॉल्स का जवाब कभी नहीं देना चाहिए... रात के ठीक 12 बज रहे थे जब अर्जुन का फ़ोन बजा — स्क्रीन पर एक अनजान नंबर झलक रहा था। वह थोड़ी देर रुका। खिड़की पर बारिश की बौछारें, बिजली की गड़गड़ाहट, और कमरे की लाइटें एक बार झपक चुकी थीं। उसने कॉल उठाया। कोई नहीं बोला। सिर्फ… सांसों की आवाज़। "कौन हो तुम?" अर्जुन ने तीखे स्वर में पूछा। अब भी चुप्पी। फिर एक धीमी, भयावह फुसफुसाहट: > "तुम्हें मुझे अनदेखा नहीं करना चाहिए था।" उसका शरीर सिहर उठा। आवाज़ जानी-पहचानी थी — पर विकृत। जैसे कोई पुराना डर वापस लौट आया हो। वह तेजी से खिड़कियों की कुंडी लगाने लगा। यह आवाज़… यह तो ऋषि की लग रही थी। उसका कॉलेज रूममेट। पर ऋषि तो तीन साल पहले सड़क दुर्घटना में मर चुका था। लेकिन कॉल्स बंद नहीं हुए। हर रात — 12:03 बजे। हर बार, आवाज़ और साफ़ होती गई। हर बार, वह फुसफुसाहट और नज़दीक लगने लगी। > "तुमने मुझे मरते देखा था।" उसने नंबर बदला, फ़ोन बदला, यहाँ तक कि शहर भी छोड़ दिया। कुछ नहीं बदला। फिर एक रात… वो फुसफुसाहट चिल्लाहट में बदल गई। और फ...

Published on: DarkChapters | July 2025 > Some calls should never be answered... It was nearly midnight when Arjun’s phone rang — an unknown number flashing across the screen. He hesitated. Rain pelted his windows, thunder rumbled low, and the lights had just flickered once. He answered. No one spoke. Just... breathing. “Who is this?” Arjun asked sharply. Still silence. Then, a whisper: > “You shouldn’t have ignored me.” His spine stiffened. The voice was distorted, but it sounded familiar — hauntingly so. He rushed to lock every window. That voice — it sounded like Rishi. His college roommate. But Rishi was dead. A car accident three years ago. Yet the calls kept coming. Each night, 12:03 a.m. Each time, a little clearer. Each time, the whisper grew louder. > “You watched me die.” He tried changing numbers. Switching phones. Even moving cities. Nothing worked. Until one night… the whisper turned into a scream. And then silence. The next morning, police found Arjun's phone ...

Posted by: ShadowScriptor | July 25, 2025 It wasn’t supposed to be haunted. When Mira inherited her grandmother’s old countryside home, she thought it would be a peaceful escape from the city’s chaos. But Hollow Pine Road had secrets. And the house... was waiting. --- 🕰️ The First Night The first thing Mira noticed was the smell of smoke. Not fresh, but aged. Like burned wood soaked into the walls decades ago. She walked through the halls, her flashlight flickering against timeworn wallpaper. Each room felt colder than the last. At the end of the hallway stood a locked door she didn’t remember from the blueprint. She didn’t open it that night. But someone — or something — did. At 3:12 AM, it creaked open on its own. Inside, she found only one thing: A portrait of herself — as a child — that had never been taken. --- 📖 The Diary Beneath the Floorboards The next morning, Mira heard tapping. Beneath the bedroom floor. She pulled up the rotted wood and found an old diary wrapped in blac...

Posted by: The Midnight Blogger  | Date: July 25, 2025 I should’ve left the town. But something in that letter… pulled me back. The second envelope — the one slipped under my door — now lay open beside me. It contained no words. Just a key. Rusted. Labeled: > “Back door. Tonight. Midnight.” I told myself I wouldn’t go. But I did. --- 🔑 The Door That Wasn’t There At exactly 12:00, I returned to Ashgrove Boarding House. There was no “back door.” At least… not before. But tonight, behind the vines and brick, a wooden door had appeared, perfectly fitting the key. As it creaked open, a wave of musty, cold air hit me — and a sound. Faint music. Like an old lullaby playing on a warped gramophone. --- 🪞 The Mirror That Reflected a Lie The hallway inside was dark, narrow, lined with mirrors. But the reflection wasn’t mine. In every mirror, a boy — a small, barefoot child — stood beside me. His eyes were hollow. His mouth unmoving. Yet his voice echoed: > “You were supposed to stay.”...

Posted by: The Midnight Blogger  | Date: July 24, 2025 No one had entered that room in forty-two years. Or so they claimed. The townsfolk whispered stories about Room 3B of the Ashgrove Boarding House — how it was sealed after a tenant vanished in 1983, leaving no trace except a single burnt matchstick on the windowsill. Curiosity isn't always a gift. It dragged me into that room last night. And what I found... shouldn't exist. --- 🕵️‍♂️ The First Clue: A Ticking Clock The room was silent, except for a slow, steady ticking. I looked around, expecting a wall clock — but found no clock anywhere. Yet the ticking continued, coming from the floorboards beneath the bed. When I stepped closer, the ticking stopped. --- 📜 The Second Clue: A Letter from 2026 On the old desk sat a dusty envelope. Inside was a letter... dated April 3, 2026 — a year from now. It read: > "To the one who dares enter, You’ve come looking for answers. But questions will follow you instead." My ha...

Posted by: The Unknown Hour Date: July 24, 2025 My name is Aditya. I rent a cheap 1BHK flat in an old building in Lucknow. I thought I got lucky. Until the door appeared. --- It Wasn’t There Before There was no door in the hallway when I moved in. Just a blank wall next to the bathroom. But last week, I woke up at 3:00 AM to drink water. And I saw it. A door. Wooden. No handle. No number. Just there. Cold air poured from underneath. I touched it. It was warm. --- The Whispers Behind It Every night at exactly 3:00 AM, the door appears. And behind it… whispers. Sometimes it says my name. Sometimes it sounds like my mother. Sometimes it sounds like me. One night I put my ear to it. A voice whispered: “We already opened yours.” I don’t know what that means. --- I Tried to Film It I set up my phone to record the hallway. But the next morning, the video cut out exactly at 2:59:59. And when it resumed — the hallway was empty. But on the floor… was a black footprint. Not mine. --- Last Night –...

  Posted by: HeartNotes Blog Date: July 24, 2025 Some people find love by chasing it. Others find it by waiting. And then… there’s the kind of love that finds you again. --- The Unexpected Return It had been three months since we met again on Platform 5. We exchanged numbers, coffee habits, dreams… and slowly, hearts. She still drank tea with two sugars. She still wore her brown trench coat even when it wasn’t cold. And I still stared—this time with permission. One evening, I asked her what made her return that day. She said, “I don’t believe in fate. I believe in second chances.” --- The Promise On our third coffee date, I told her: > “Next time we meet on Platform 5, let’s not say goodbye.” She smiled, sipped her chai, and whispered: > “Only if the train is late again.” --- One Month Later – Platform 5 I was nervous. She had gone to Jaipur for a family trip. I waited on Platform 5, same bench, same time. No train in sight. The delay board blinked in red. 34 minutes. I laugh...

Posted by: HeartNotes Blog Date: July 23, 2025 Some love stories don’t begin with a smile… They begin with a delay. --- The First Meeting I met her on Platform 5 of the Delhi railway station. It was raining. My train was late. I was frustrated, soaked, and hungry. She was sitting on a bench with a small suitcase, sipping tea, headphones in, eyes closed. Something about her was peaceful. In a place full of chaos, she looked… still. I sat on the next bench. I wasn’t planning to talk to her. I just… kept looking. Until she opened one eye and said, "You either say something or stop staring. Both is creepy." That’s how it started. --- A Cup of Chai and an Hour of Forever We talked. About songs. About why trains are never on time. About her dream of becoming a writer. About my boring job in Mumbai. It was just an hour. But it felt like home. Then the announcement came. Her train arrived. I panicked. I didn’t even know her name. Before I could ask, she smiled and said: "Don’t w...

Posted by: The Midnight Blogger Date: July 24, 2025 If you're reading this, you're already in danger. Because once you know about it— Once you believe in it— It notices you. --- Last Night… I Should’ve Died I saw it. Not just its shadow. Not a glimpse. Its full form. It stood at the end of my hallway. It looked like me. Same face. Same eyes. But wrong. Its smile never blinked. Its eyes never moved. And worst of all—it spoke like me. But only one sentence: “You should’ve let me in.” --- I Tried to Escape I ran. Out the door. Down the stairs. Into the street barefoot. I don’t even remember grabbing my phone. I went to my friend Neha’s house. Slept on her couch. Told her everything. She laughed. Said I was sleep-deprived. Said I should rest. So I stayed. --- 2:47 AM – Neha’s House I woke to knocking. Three sharp taps. But not at the front door. At the window. We were on the sixth floor. Then came my voice. “Neha… it’s me. Let me in. He’s lying to you.” She started walking toward t...

  Posted by: The Midnight Blogger Date: July 23, 2025 There’s something evil in my house. It knocks. It mimics. And it learns. This isn’t a story. This is a warning. --- Day 1 – The First Knock It started three nights ago. I was alone, editing a video late at night. Around 2:47 AM, I heard a knock on the front door. Three sharp taps. I live on the third floor of an apartment building. The gate downstairs is always locked. So who was knocking? When I peeked through the peephole, no one was there. I assumed I was tired and ignored it. --- Day 2 – The Voice Same time. Same knock. But this time, a voice followed. “Open the door. Please. It’s cold out here.” It sounded exactly like my younger brother. Except—he’s been dead for two years. I didn’t open it. I didn’t sleep either. --- Day 3 – It Knows Me Now At 2:47 AM, the knocking came again. But this time, it was at my bedroom door. I hadn’t heard anyone enter. Then came the voice: “Aman... I’m inside already. Just open the door.” I ran...

  Posted on: July 23, 2025 Author: NightTeller They say every hotel has a haunted room. For the Shivraj Palace Hotel , it’s Room 413. I never believed in ghosts. I booked the room on purpose . Just for fun. For the story. But what happened that night… still gives me chills. The Check-in When I asked the receptionist for Room 413, her smile faltered. "You’re… sure about that room?" she asked. "Why? Is it cursed?" I joked. She didn't laugh. "Just... don’t open the wardrobe after midnight," she said quietly. Creepy hotel humor? Maybe. But it worked. I was hooked. Midnight Room 413 was ordinary—too ordinary. Pale walls, dull lights, and the faint smell of wet wood. Nothing screamed "haunted." I even livestreamed to my followers: “Guess the ghost’s late!” But at 12:13 AM , the power flickered. My phone glitched. And then I heard it— whispers . They came from the wardrobe. The Wardrobe The voice was soft at first, like wind: ...