This is not just another tale. It is a horror story—one that Rajesh himself lived through, though few ever believed him.
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Rajesh. His father and mother were both working professionals, always busy with meetings, projects, and office hours that seemed endless. Rajesh was their only child, and while his parents cared deeply for him, their demanding jobs left him alone most of the time.
With no siblings to play with and no one to guide him during the long afternoons, Rajesh slowly drifted toward the wrong crowd. At first, it was small things—skipping homework, wandering the streets, and spending too much time with boys who laughed at rules. But soon, he found himself in the company of teenagers who smoked, cursed, and lived recklessly. Rajesh, still young and impressionable, copied them without thinking.
When his parents discovered this, their world shattered. They had worked hard to give their son a good life, but now he was slipping away. Fearing for his future, they made a difficult decision: Rajesh would be sent to a hostel, where discipline and structure might save him. With heavy hearts, they enrolled him in a reputed boarding school on the outskirts of the city.
For Rajesh, it was like being abandoned in a strange world. The hostel was massive, with tall gates, endless corridors, and an old-world charm that unsettled him. The walls were cracked, the windows tall and narrow, and the air always seemed to carry a chill, even in summer.
The first few weeks were the hardest. He ate alone, walked alone, and at night lay in bed staring at the ceiling, missing the familiar warmth of home. But slowly, things began to change. He started talking to the boys in his dormitory. They shared jokes, late-night whispers, and eventually, secrets.
One of those secrets chilled Rajesh to the bone.
“The hostel is haunted,” one boy whispered one night when the lights were out.
Rajesh laughed. “Haunted? Don’t be silly. Ghosts don’t exist.”
But the other boys grew serious. They told him the story of the building: once, long ago, it had been a magnificent palace belonging to Begum Sumru, a renowned dancer of the 18th century. She was admired for her beauty, grace, and wealth. But jealousy runs deep, and one night she and her entire family were brutally murdered by rivals. The palace fell silent after that, its walls stained with sorrow.
Over time, the palace was converted into a hostel, but the legends never faded. People spoke of footsteps at midnight, of locked doors rattling on their own, of icy breezes sweeping through closed rooms. Students whispered about figures standing by the windows, watching silently in the dead of night.
Rajesh scoffed. “This is just another horror story to scare new students. I’m not mad enough to believe it.”
Six months passed without anything unusual happening. Rajesh was convinced the ghost tales were nothing but childish imagination. But then, one cold winter night, his certainty shattered.
He was fast asleep when he heard it—a voice. Soft, eerie, and echoing down the hallway. At first, he thought it was a dream. But the voice grew louder, clearer, and more terrifying.
“No one will survive in this hostel… I’m going to kill everyone…”
Rajesh’s blood turned cold. He sat up, heart hammering in his chest. But as suddenly as it began, the voice disappeared, leaving only silence.
The next morning, he told his friends. They laughed at him. “You’ve been watching too many horror nights on TV,” one joked.
But Rajesh couldn’t shake it off.
The following nights brought more terror. He heard whispers when the hostel was silent. The sound of anklets jingling in empty corridors. Sometimes, he heard his own name being called in a woman’s voice he didn’t recognize.
Three long months passed this way. The visions grew more intense. Rajesh’s once bright eyes now looked tired and hollow. His face grew pale. He could barely concentrate in class. Yet no one believed him. To them, he was exaggerating or inventing stories for attention.
Then came the night that changed everything.
It was late, close to midnight, when Rajesh left for the washroom. His dorm bathroom was under repair, so he and a friend decided to go downstairs. The corridor was dark, lit only by a dim bulb that flickered every few seconds. They walked quickly, not speaking much.
After using the washroom, they suddenly heard the hostel alarm ringing from upstairs. Both of them froze. “Who could be messing around at this hour?” his friend whispered. Thinking it was a prank, they hid behind a wall, waiting to catch whoever it was. But no one came. Minutes passed, the alarm stopped, and the silence grew heavier.
Still uneasy, they walked toward the dining hall to get some water. Rajesh glanced at the clock on the wall.
2:00 AM.
Just then, the sound of anklets filled the room. Soft, rhythmic, drawing closer.
The boys exchanged nervous glances. “It’s nothing,” his friend muttered. But the sound came again. Louder. Closer.
This time, they didn’t wait. They bolted upstairs, their footsteps echoing in the silent building. They threw themselves into their beds, pulling the blankets over their heads, as if fabric could protect them from the unknown.
But Rajesh could not sleep. His eyes, wide open, scanned the dark room. That’s when he saw it.
A shadow under the bed near the door.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. But then, slowly, something began crawling out. A skeleton. Its bones creaked, its joints cracked as it moved. Rajesh’s throat went dry. He wanted to scream, but no sound came.
The skeleton dragged itself across the floor, and without opening the door, it slipped straight through the closed gate and vanished.
Rajesh did not sleep that night. His body trembled until dawn.
The next morning, he told everyone what he had seen. But no one believed him—not even his friend, who had been with him that night. “You imagined it,” his friend said coldly.
From then on, the horror nights multiplied. Rajesh saw ghostly figures standing at the foot of his bed. Lights flickered on and off without reason. Whispers grew into screams that pierced the night. Sometimes, he felt icy fingers grabbing his ankles in the dark.
Every morning, when he tried to explain, he was met with laughter, dismissal, or pity. “You need a doctor,” some said. “Stop lying,” others accused.
The disbelief crushed him. The terror drained him. He grew withdrawn, unstable, a shell of the boy he once was. He was haunted not only by the spirits of the hostel, but by the cruel reality that no one believed his suffering.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Rajesh begged his parents to take him home. They agreed.
And strangely… the moment he left the hostel, all the visions stopped. No more voices. No more shadows. No more skeletons.
But the trauma never left him.
To this day, Rajesh avoids talking about what happened. Whenever someone brings up ghost stories, he simply shakes his head and changes the subject. But deep inside, he knows the truth.
What he saw in that hostel was real. The horror nights he endured were not illusions.
And that is why Rajesh’s story lives on—not as a rumour, not as a joke, but as one of the most chilling horror stories ever whispered among students of that haunted hostel.