Tag: supernatural thriller

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The Uninvited Guest at the Wedding

A Christian wedding in Dwarka Sector 1 takes a sinister turn as a mysterious man reveals the bride’s dark connection to a cult. Secrets unravel, and terror strikes.

The wedding hall in Dwarka Sector 1 was adorned with glowing fairy lights, the air buzzing with laughter and the scent of roses. Two brothers, Anish and Joel, along with their cousins Priya and Elena, had gathered to celebrate their elder brother Ryan’s Christian wedding to his fiancé, Clara. It was supposed to be a joyful occasion, but unease hung like a shadow over the celebrations.

Priya was the first to notice the man. Tall, gaunt, and dressed in black, he stood in the far corner of the room, watching the ceremony with a cold intensity. “Who is that?” she whispered to Joel. He shrugged, but unease flickered in his eyes.

As the vows were exchanged, the man moved closer, his presence almost palpable. Clara seemed distracted, glancing at him several times. After the ceremony, Anish, ever curious, approached him. “Are you from Clara’s side?” he asked.

The man’s lips curled into a thin smile. “I’m here for her… and him.” His gaze lingered on Ryan.

Later that evening, Elena stumbled upon an old journal in Clara’s bridal suite. The pages were filled with cryptic symbols and references to a cult—The Binding Circle. One entry read: “The union seals the pact. The groom becomes the vessel.”

Panic set in. The four cousins confronted Clara, but she denied everything, her voice trembling. When they turned to find the man in black, he had vanished, leaving behind a faint, sulfuric smell.

That night, the lights flickered, and strange whispers echoed through the hall. By morning, Ryan was gone, his wedding ring left on the altar.

They never saw him again, but the man in black returned to their nightmares, always watching, always waiting.

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The Woman Who Never Left

A strange woman seeks help from three friends in Mayur Vihar Phase 2, but what follows is a chilling nightmare that refuses to end. Evil has found its way in.

It was Mebin’s last weekend in Delhi before moving to Canada. He, Sanskriti, and Prajit decided to grab a late-night snack near their apartment in Mayur Vihar Phase 2. The streets were unusually empty, the air heavy with a strange stillness. As they laughed about old memories, a woman in a tattered red saree appeared from the shadows.

“Please… help me,” she whispered, her voice barely above the wind.

Mebin hesitated, but Sanskriti, always kind-hearted, stepped forward. “What happened?”

The woman’s dark eyes locked onto them, unblinking. “My house… it’s nearby. I need help getting something.”

Something about her felt wrong, but before they could refuse, she turned and walked into the dimly lit alley. Against better judgment, they followed.

Inside the crumbling house, the air reeked of damp wood and something foul. The woman motioned toward a locked door. “Inside,” she said flatly.

Prajit, uneasy, clutched Sanskriti’s arm. “Let’s leave,” he muttered.

The woman turned sharply, her once-human features twisting into something grotesque. Her mouth stretched into an unnatural grin. “You already came inside. Now, you stay.”

The door slammed shut behind them. The walls pulsed as if breathing. A whisper filled the air: “One must stay with me.”

The lights flickered, and the woman… was now standing inches from Mebin.

Someone was not making it out.

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The Yakshini’s Grasp: Lajpat’s Fear

A Delhi hospital hides a gruesome secret. An author, her assistant, and a doctor confront a terror that transcends medical understanding.

The miasma of disinfectant and decay hung heavy in the corridors of “Aarogya Sadan,” a dilapidated hospital nestled near the bustling heart of Lajpat Nagar. Dr. Anika Sharma, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion, consulted the flickering fluorescent light overhead. “Another unexplained cardiac arrest,” she muttered, the clinical detachment in her voice barely masking the unease gnawing at her.

Across the dimly lit room, Maya, a 40-year-old aspiring author with a penchant for the macabre, scribbled furiously in her notebook. Her assistant, Rohan, a perpetually anxious 30-year-old, fidgeted nearby, his gaze darting nervously towards the shadowed corners. Maya, researching for her new novel, had become a fixture at Aarogya Sadan, drawn by the hospital’s unsettling reputation.

“The patients… they speak of whispers,” Maya said, her voice a low, gravelly rasp. “They mention a yakshini, a spirit that feasts on life force.”

Anika scoffed, a brittle sound that echoed in the sterile silence. “Superstition, Maya. We deal with biological realities, not spectral figments.”

But the realities were becoming increasingly bizarre. Patients, seemingly healthy, plummeted into cardiac arrest, their skin turning a ghastly, translucent pallor. The hospital’s ancient generator sputtered, plunging the ward into intermittent darkness, amplifying the chilling atmosphere.

One night, the generator failed completely. A cacophony of panicked cries erupted from the patient rooms. Rohan, his face ashen, held a trembling flashlight. The beam danced across the walls, revealing grotesque shadows that seemed to writhe and coalesce.

A low, guttural moan echoed from the end of the corridor. Anika, her professional skepticism wavering, led the way, her footsteps echoing on the cold tile. They found a patient, Mr. Kapoor, his eyes wide with terror, his chest heaving. His skin, now a sickly, luminous green, pulsed with an unearthly light.

“It’s… it’s taking my prana,” he gasped, his voice a raspy whisper.

Suddenly, a gust of frigid air swept through the room, extinguishing the flashlight. A spectral figure materialized, its form shimmering and indistinct, its eyes glowing with a malevolent, emerald light. The figure, a yakshini, exuded an aura of ancient dread, its presence a palpable weight in the suffocating darkness.

Maya, her fear momentarily eclipsed by a writer’s morbid fascination, reached for her notebook. “It’s real,” she breathed, her voice a hushed awe.

The yakshini lunged, its spectral hand reaching for Anika, who recoiled in horror. Rohan, his voice cracking, screamed, “Run!”

They fled, the yakshini’s chilling laughter echoing behind them. The hospital, once a place of healing, had become a charnel house, a nexus of ancient, malevolent power. The stench of decay intensified, a morbid perfume that clung to their clothes and invaded their nightmares. The hospital, it seemed, had awakened a horror that transcended medical understanding, a horror that fed on the very essence of life, a horror that whispered in the shadows of Lajpat Nagar. The terror that they now knew, would not be contained.

**For more chilling Horror Fiction tales click here Horror Stories

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