A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury
Bio
I’m a passionate writer, weaving gripping fiction, personal essays, and eerie horror tales. My stories aim to entertain, inspire, and spark curiosity, connecting with readers through suspenseful, thought-provoking narratives.
Stories (14)
Filter by community
From Self-Doubt to Confidence: My Transformation Story. AI-Generated.
Three years ago, I couldn't order pizza over the phone without rehearsing the conversation five times in my head. The thought of speaking up in meetings made my palms sweat, and compliments felt like lies people told to be polite. If you had told me then that I'd eventually give presentations to hundreds of people or start my own consulting practice, I would have laughed—nervously, of course.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury8 months ago in Motivation
The Nightmare Beneath the Bed. AI-Generated.
I still remember the elaborate bedtime ritual of my childhood. The running leap from the doorway onto my mattress. The careful arrangement of stuffed animals along the perimeter like sentries. The absolute certainty that if any limb dangled over the edge, something would grab it and pull me into the darkness below.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury9 months ago in Horror
The Mirror in the Attic. AI-Generated.
The box of my grandmother's belongings sat unopened in my living room for nearly a month after the funeral. I couldn't bring myself to sort through her things, each item a reminder that she was truly gone. But as April rain tapped against my windows, I finally found the courage.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Fiction
The Smiling Man. AI-Generated.
The first time I noticed him was on a Tuesday evening. The park had nearly emptied as dusk settled in, painting the sky in muted purples and deep blues. I was cutting through on my way home from work, taking advantage of the shortcut rather than walking the long way around.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
The Forgotten Room. AI-Generated.
The letter from the estate lawyer arrived three weeks after Mom's funeral. My childhood home in Pinehaven was now officially mine—all 3,800 square feet of fading Victorian glory, complete with sagging porch and creaking floorboards. I hadn't set foot in the place since leaving for college twelve years ago, maintaining only the most perfunctory relationship with Mom through occasional phone calls and obligatory holiday visits at my apartment in the city.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
The Silent Village
The rain had been falling for hours, a steady deluge that transformed the dirt road into a soupy mess. My hiking boots sank ankle-deep with each step as I trudged forward, squinting through droplets that clung to my eyelashes. According to my GPS, I should've reached the main highway twenty minutes ago, but the dense forest showed no signs of thinning.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Fiction
The Haunting of Blackthorn Manor
The mansion was abandoned for years, but when I moved in, it felt like someone—something—was still there. I knew what I was getting into—or at least I thought I did. Blackthorn Manor had been the talk of Cedar Hollow for decades. A sprawling Victorian monstrosity perched atop the hill overlooking our small town, its silhouette a jagged tear against the sky. When it went up for auction at a fraction of its worth, I saw opportunity where others saw only decay and whispered legends.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
The Eyes in the Walls
I paid little attention to the unusual groans and creaks the third level of the old building produced when I first moved into the apartment. After all, it was an old building—one that had seen better days. But there was something about it, something unsettling, that gnawed at me from the moment I stepped through the door.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
The Last Door
# The Last Door The basement door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound echoing in the empty house. My aunt and uncle's footsteps had faded minutes ago, their car pulling out of the driveway with promises to return before dark. At seventeen, I was finally deemed responsible enough to stay home alone—a rare privilege during my summer visits.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
The Midnight Caller
The phone would ring every night at midnight; nobody was ever on the other end. Up until one night, I answered. The first call arrived exactly one week following my arrival at the old Victorian on Maple Street. From the brink of sleep, a loud ring sliced through the nocturnal calm, shocking me. Fumbling in the dark, I responded groggily, "Hello?" only to be confronted with emptiness—not even the politeness of breathing or background sounds. just nothing.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhury10 months ago in Horror
