travel

Haunted locales and houses of horror from the Amityville home to the Tower of London; travel tips for those seeking a trip filled with fun and evil.

Whispers in the Walls. AI-Generated.
Detective Lila Harris never believed in ghosts — until the night one whispered her name. It was a quiet Thursday at the precinct. Most officers had gone home, but Lila stayed late, reviewing cold cases — especially the one she could never shake: the disappearance and murder of Emily Ward, a young woman who vanished five years ago.
By Amar Mughal9 months ago in Horror
Ghosts of the Death Railway: The Haunted Legacy of River Kwai & Hellfire Pass
The Haunted History of River Kwai Bridge and Hellfire Pass, Kanchanaburi A Legacy of Suffering River Kwai Bridge and Hellfire Pass, Kanchanaburi, Thailand, are etched in history as a testament to human endurance and war violence. During World War II, the Japanese Imperial Army forced over 60,000 Allied prisoners of war (POWs) and 200,000 Asian laborers to construct the 258-mile Thailand-Burma "Death Railway" under inhumane conditions. The railway was to supply Japanese troops in Burma, but its building came at a ghastly cost: Approximately 16,000 POWs and 90,000 Asian laborers perished from starvation, disease, torture, and exhaustion.
By Kyrol Mojikal9 months ago in Horror
“The Last Night of Kalikapur”
The village of Kalikapur was known for its silence. Tucked away behind dense forests and narrow muddy roads, it was the kind of place where time seemed to stand still. However, the silence was not tranquil; rather, it was eerie, akin to the calm before a storm. People whispered stories, but no one dared speak of them aloud. After nearly a decade, 19-year-old Rafiq went back to Kalikapur. His grandfather had passed away, leaving behind an old, worn-out house in the middle of the village. Rafiq had no plans to stay long—just enough to sell the house and return to the city. But fate had something else in store. The Approach It was dusk when Rafiq arrived. The crimson sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows that danced on the muddy path. He was met by the villagers with suspicious eyes and only brief nods and no smiles. An old man approached him and whispered, “Don’t stay here tonight. Sell it and leave.” Then he walked away without another word. Brushing it off as village superstition, Rafiq entered his grandfather’s house. Dust covered the furniture, cobwebs hung like curtains, and the air smelled of damp wood and old secrets. He lit a lantern and settled in. The Whispers That night, something felt wrong. The wind howled through the cracks in the wall, but it wasn’t the wind that disturbed him—it was the whispers. At first muffled, it became louder, as if someone was standing right next to him. "Why did you come back...?" Rafiq jumped, his eyes scanning the room. Nobody was there. He chalked it up to imagination. However, the whispers persisted. Midnight Clap A knock on the door came at exactly midnight. Three sluggish blows. Knock... Knock... Knock... Heart pounding, Rafiq walked to the door. “Who is it?” He inquired. Silence. He opened the door. No one. But muddy footprints led from the gate to his doorstep. Then, the lantern inside flickered, and all lights went out. The Forbidden Room Searching for a candle, Rafiq stumbled upon a locked door at the back of the house. He had never noticed it before. The key was already in the lock, almost inviting. He flipped it. The space was chilly. Freezing. Strange things were inside, including old photos, smoldering candles, diary pages that had been torn up, and... a mirror. But it wasn’t an ordinary mirror. It was black, reflecting nothing. He stepped closer. Suddenly, his reflection appeared—but it smiled when he didn’t. Then it whispered: “Now you see us.” The Truth Comes Out Rafiq retreated, his heart racing. He grabbed the diary and ran to the main room. Flipping through it, he discovered something horrifying. His grandfather wasn’t just an old man he was the village’s spiritual guardian, the only one who knew how to trap them spirits who once ruled the forest and demanded human souls every few years. When his grandfather died, the spirits were free. They had waited... for Rafiq. The Last Escape Terrified, Rafiq tried to leave. However, the doors did not open. The windows were sealed. Whispers turned to voices. Shadows moved independently. The mirror started to shatter. The voice said, "Offer us your soul, and you may leave." But Rafiq was smart. He began to chant after grabbing the diary's pages and drawing the protective circle his grandfather once used. The house shook. Screams filled the air. The mirror shattered. Light. Then silence. The following morning Rafiq was alive but unconscious when the villagers found him outside the house. The house had collapsed during the night, they said. But Rafiq knew better. He had sealed the spirits back. For now. He left Kalikapur the same day and never returned. But even years later, sometimes at midnight... He hears the knock. Knock... Knock... Knock...
By Rifat9 months ago in Horror
A mirror that shows a different reality each night.. AI-Generated.
It started on a cold Tuesday night. Maya had just moved into a worn-down apartment on the third floor of an old building downtown. The paint was chipped, the pipes groaned, and the windows barely closed — but the rent was cheap and she needed a fresh start after her messy breakup and even messier bank account.
By Amar Mughal9 months ago in Horror
Waves to Whispers. Content Warning.
It happened in the years 1994 and 1998. I had a brother, a sister, and me in the family. I was 19 years old back then, and we lived in Unawatuna.. When I was seven, my father died, forcing us to carry on without him. My mother worked hard, weaving baskets and tailoring clothes to feed the three of us. My mother had tried lecturing us, but my brother and I had never had any sort of work ethic. We were really in the market for money because of some personal family problems. We fished, sold chickpeas in the evenings, and mended torn bags for schoolchildren. Many times we would go up to tourists on the beach and actually sell them seashells.
By Rohitha Lanka9 months ago in Horror
Beneath the Palm Tree. AI-Generated.
On a night devoid of moonlight, the atmosphere was peculiarly calm. The village of Shonarpur lay in slumber, enveloped in tranquility, interrupted only by the sporadic barking of distant stray dogs. Rajib had just departed from his friend Tanmoy’s residence after an extensive evening filled with conversation and card games. It was well past 2 AM, and although Tanmoy had invited him to stay overnight, Rajib politely refused. He harbored no fear of the darkness or the tales whispered by the villagers after dusk.
By Md. Lotifur Rahman 9 months ago in Horror
The Last Passenger
The train pulled out of the station at exactly 11:45 p.m., slicing through the night like a silver bullet. Most of the passengers were asleep, lulled by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. But not Clara.
By Sandy.9 months ago in Horror
Whispers of the Hollow House
An abandoned house with cracked walls, moss-covered doors, and shattered windows that howled with every wind gust stood in a remote village near the Sundarbans. It was known locally as the "Hollow House." There had been no one there for decades. The house was said to be cursed. Those who approached it either vanished or returned insane. Ayaan, a 19-year-old city boy, had never heard of ghosts. Ayaan had to accompany his father when he moved to that village for work. Bored and frustrated without internet, Ayaan spent his days wandering around the village, trying to find something exciting. Ayaan overheard two elderly men conversing in the tea shop one evening as the golden sun set behind the trees. “Ekbar je oi barir vitore dhukse… se ar normal thake nai,” one said in a hushed voice. Ayaan's interest was aroused. He asked his father about it that night, but all he said was "Stay away from that place, beta." It isn't for you. But that was exactly the kind of thing that pushed Ayaan to explore. He brought a small camera, his phone, and a flashlight the following day, just before dusk. He told himself, "Just for fun." He followed a narrow trail through the trees, birds screeching overhead as if warning him. Finally, the Hollow House emerged from the shadows—looming like a skeleton in the dying light. He entered after taking a deep breath. It was darker inside than expected. His flashlight flickered. His face was covered in dust mites. Under his feet, every board on the floor creaked. On the walls were strange symbols—scratches, handprints, and what looked like dried blood. He then took it in. a gentle whisper He initially mistook it for the wind. But then it came back, this time closer: "Ayaan..." He froze. Did you just... hear my name? The room suddenly turned icy cold. His flashlight went off. As he struggled with the switch, he felt a surge of panic. In the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow dart across the hallway. He turned around. Nothing. A door that opened by itself at the end of the hall creaked open. "A haunted house. Right,” he said in an effort to appear brave. “Maybe someone’s playing a prank.” He came into the room. Although it was a bedroom, the bed was on its side, the mirror was broken, and the walls were covered in black scribbles. A message was carved into the mirror frame: "Don't Pay Attention to What They Say." A loud thud suddenly echoed behind him. Ayaan shifted. Standing at the door was… no one. From the dry hallway, however, a trail of wet footprints led toward him. He stumbled once more. “Nope. I’m out.” The door slammed shut as the man turned to run. His phone lost connection. After a blink, the flashlight went out. The whisper came back in the darkness, closer and louder. “Stay.” He screamed, banging the door. “LET ME OUT!” In the gloom, a figure then appeared. A woman, drenched in water, long black hair covering her face, her neck twisted unnaturally. She stepped forward, her feet making no sound. Ayaan retreated, tripping over shattered furniture. Suddenly—everything stopped. The flashlight came back on. The door was unlocked. The figure had vanished. He didn’t think twice. He ran all the way home, breath ragged, face pale. His father found him shivering in bed that night. "You didn't go there, did you?" Ayaan just nodded. With tears in his eyes, his father sighed. “Your mother… she died in that house. You were only a young child. Ayaan's heart sank. “What?” "She came back into the house one night to save you. Only you emerged. Ayaan's thoughts raced. “That woman… in the house…” Slowly, his father nodded. "That's why I said you shouldn't go." That night, Ayaan couldn't fall asleep. The whispers returned, but this time they came from his own room rather than the house.
By Rifat9 months ago in Horror
What happened on that day at this house?
The name of the village is Bhulabeda. When I mentioned this story, this village was in West Midnapore, although it is currently part of Jhargram. Most of the residents of this village, surrounded by forests, are tribal people, that is, people of the Mahato, Santal, and Munda communities. Most of the village people's lives revolve around this forest. Most of the trees in the forest are sal trees. They collect the leaves of this tree and make food for the ceremony house, while some collect wood or chalk from the forest and sell them in the market to run their family. A special type of livelihood here is ant eggs collected from the forest.
By Md Rakib Hosen9 months ago in Horror
The Haunting of Jangmuarinnakorn House: Thailand’s Most Notorious Ghost Mansion
The Spooky History and Phantom Tradition of Jangmuarinnakorn House (White Lion House), Chiang Mai Situated in the northwest corner of the ancient city walls of Chiang Mai, the crumbling majesty of Jangmuarinnakorn House, or the White Lion House, is a terrifying reminder of ambition, tragedy, and the paranormal. Its baroque facade, with snarling lion statues guarding either side, is jarring against its surrounding tropical landscape, attracting both fascination and terror. This is the tale of its ghostly heritage, a mix of historical fact and spooky legend.
By Kyrol Mojikal9 months ago in Horror
Frankenstein
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley is one of the most famous horror and science fiction stories ever written. But it's more than just a tale of a scary monster. It's a powerful story about science, ambition, loneliness, and what happens when we try to play the role of God.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Horror
Beloved
Beloved by Toni Morrison is one of the most emotional and unforgettable stories ever written. It is a novel that speaks about slavery, motherhood, memory, and the pain that people carry with them long after their suffering is over. Even though the story is deep and sometimes heartbreaking, it is told with such beauty and truth that it stays with you forever.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Horror