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.

The Scream of the Dark A crumbling
empty house stood in the middle of a barren, unexplored forest, next to a dormant village. It had shattered windows, the door creaked in the wind on rusty hinges, and crawling ivy covered the walls. The villagers spoke horribly of the house, which remained empty for centuries. Despite the fact that no one entered, they warned him that the place was haunted. Some claimed to have witnessed something moving through the shattered windows and heard a noise at night. No one approached it—until the night in question.
By Evelyn Ava2 years ago in Horror
A Terrifying Curfew Night: Jinn Encounter & Black Magic in Dreams
This incident is a very recent one, it happened in July of this year. So, let's begin the story. The incident happened to him.
By Lily2 years ago in Horror
Shockwave. AI-Generated.
The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust. Clara sat at the wooden desk, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the letter. It had arrived that morning, slipped under her door without a sound. The envelope was yellowed and brittle, as though it had traveled through decades to reach her.
By MD Alhaz Hossen2 years ago in Horror
Beyond the Mist: Ghosts, Curses, and the Untold Hauntings of the Black Forest
The Spookiest History and Phantom Legends of Germany's Black Forest Deep in the south-west of Germany, the Black Forest (Schwarzwald) is a realm of misty pine woods, jagged mountains, and black valleys that have terrorized centuries of legend. Yet behind its fairytale villages and cuckoo clocks there's a darker reputation: it's Germany's most haunted land. Brooding with tales of lost spirits, ancient curses, and paranormal activity.
By Kyrol Mojikal2 years ago in Horror
Real-Life Jinn Encounters
The first incident was sent to us by Nafiz Hasan Khokon. His home is in the village of Khalisakundi, Daulatpur Thana, Kushtia District. The next incident was sent to us by someone whose several stories we have already broadcast. Her name is Sumaiya Jahan Sumi, and her home is in Krishnakathi village, Bakerganj Thana, Barisal District. So, the first incident is from Khokon, and he took his HSC (Higher Secondary Certificate) exam in 2024. Let's get to the main story. The incident happened to one of his aunts. His maternal grandfathers are three brothers, and all three are currently alive. The incident happened to the youngest daughter of his middle maternal grandfather, meaning one of his aunts. The time frame of the incident is the late 1990s, sometime after 1998. In 1998, vast areas of the country were affected by a devastating flood. Their area was not outside of the areas that were flooded. The surrounding areas, specifically the market in their area, which is the Khalisakundi market, had an iron bridge. People from the surrounding areas used that iron bridge to travel. That bridge was also affected by the flood and was submerged. With the bridge being submerged, you can imagine how much water there was. Khokon wasn't even born yet at that time. His birth year is later. The incident happened sometime between 1998 and 2000. He heard the story from his mother. His aunt's name is Tanjila. At the time of the incident, Tanjila Aunt was 17 years old. Tanjila Aunt has an older sister, but we are not mentioning her name for obvious reasons.
By Lily2 years ago in Horror
Pakistan Train Attack LIVE Updates: 16 Militants Killed, 104 Passengers Rescued After Attack on Jaffar Express in Balochistan
In a dramatic turn of events, Pakistani security forces successfully neutralized 16 militants and rescued 104 passengers following a brazen attack on the Jaffar Express in the restive province of Balochistan. The incident, which unfolded on [insert date], has once again highlighted the volatile security situation in the region and the ongoing challenges faced by the Pakistani government in maintaining peace and stability.
By Azra parveen2 years ago in Horror
The Ghosts of Fengman Dam: A Village Trapped Between History and Horror
The Ghostly Legacy of Dead Fengman Village, China Dead Fengman Village, situated on the banks of the Songhua River in Jilin Province, is shrouded in somber history and ghostly legend, and so is China's most haunted site. Its history is tied to the construction of the Fengman Dam, a venture that was plagued by difficulty and disaster under Japanese occupation, which left a legacy of haunted specters and unexplained phenomena.
By Kyrol Mojikal2 years ago in Horror
The Last Train to Blackwood
The train to Blackwood was notorious. Locals called it the "Ghost Train," a relic from the past that still ran on the darkest nights. I didn’t believe in ghost stories, but when I missed the last regular train, I had no choice. The station was empty, the platform lit by a single flickering bulb. The air was thick with the smell of rain and rust.
By Word Weaver2 years ago in Horror
The Last Passenger
Rafiq boarded the last bus of the night, relieved to find it nearly empty. The rain poured outside, blurring the city lights. He slid into a window seat near the back, shaking off the cold. The driver, an old man with hollow eyes, gave him a brief nod before shutting the doors. The bus rumbled forward, its engine growling against the storm. Rafiq glanced around. A few passengers sat scattered throughout—an elderly woman clutching a cloth bag, a man in a suit staring out the window, and a young girl sitting alone near the front. Something felt… off. The bus was oddly silent. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the girl, who looked no older than ten, sat unnaturally still, her face hidden by her long, dark hair. As the bus sped through the empty streets, Rafiq noticed something strange—the route was unfamiliar. He had taken this bus before, but the turns felt wrong. The city buildings faded, replaced by endless fog. He leaned forward. "Excuse me, driver, where are we going?" The old man didn’t respond. Rafiq’s stomach twisted. He turned to the nearest passenger—the man in the suit. "Do you know where this bus is headed?" The man slowly turned his head. His face was pale, his eyes empty sockets. Rafiq recoiled in horror. The old woman beside him did the same—her skin paper-thin, her mouth stretching into an unnatural grin. His breath caught in his throat. He turned to the young girl, the only one who hadn’t moved. "Help me," he whispered. The girl lifted her head. Her hollow, black eyes met his. "You shouldn’t be here." The lights flickered. The bus shook violently. The fog outside thickened, swallowing everything. "Stop the bus!" Rafiq shouted, scrambling to his feet. The driver finally turned to him. His face was decayed, flesh hanging from his bones. His voice was barely a whisper. "You were never supposed to get on." The bus screeched to a halt. The doors flung open, revealing nothing but darkness outside. A force yanked Rafiq forward, pulling him into the abyss. The next morning, the city’s first bus of the day followed its usual route. At one stop, the doors opened, but no one was there. Yet, on the last seat at the back, a single wet handprint remained.
By SHAKIB2 years ago in Horror
The Shadow Behind the Door
Naila had never believed in ghosts. When she rented the old countryside cottage for a weekend getaway, she laughed at the landlord’s warning. “Don’t open the backroom door after midnight,” the old man had said. “No matter what you hear.” She dismissed it as superstition. The house was ancient, with creaky wooden floors and candle-lit sconces, but that only added to its charm. After unpacking, she made herself a cup of tea and curled up with a book. The night air was crisp, and the silence outside was peaceful. At exactly midnight, a soft knock echoed from the backroom. Naila froze. It wasn’t possible. She was alone. The knock came again—slow, deliberate. Then, a whisper seeped through the wood. “Let me out.” Her pulse quickened. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe an animal had gotten trapped inside. Gathering her courage, she approached the door. The air around it was unnaturally cold. “Nonsense,” she muttered, reaching for the handle. Then, she remembered the landlord’s warning. Don’t open the door. The knocking grew urgent, more desperate. Then, something scratched at the wood from the inside. Naila backed away, her breath shallow. She forced herself to return to the couch, trying to ignore the persistent sound. But as the minutes passed, a new horror crept in—the knocks were no longer coming from the backroom. They were moving. Now, they came from the walls. From the ceiling. From the floor beneath her feet. Then, a whisper slithered into her ear, close as a lover’s breath. “You should have opened the door.” Naila screamed and ran for the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. The locks twisted on their own, trapping her inside. The candlelight flickered wildly, casting shadows that danced and twisted—until one of them stepped forward. A tall, gaunt figure with hollow eyes stood in the corner, watching her. With a voice like the wind through dead leaves, it spoke. “Now, I come to you.” The lights went out. The next morning, the landlord arrived to check on the cottage. The front door was locked, just as he had left it. But when he stepped inside, the house was empty. No sign of Naila—except for the deep scratches on the backroom door, as if something had tried to claw its way out. And the whisper that greeted him: “Let me out.”
By SHAKIB2 years ago in Horror
The Whispers in Room 306
Arif arrived at the Riverside Grand Hotel late at night, drenched from the unexpected rain. The receptionist, an elderly woman with sunken eyes, barely looked at him as she slid the key across the counter. "Room 306," she muttered. There was something unsettling about her tone, but Arif was too exhausted to care. He took the creaky elevator to the third floor, his shoes squelching against the faded carpet. As he walked down the dimly lit hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. The moment he stepped inside Room 306, a cold gust of air wrapped around him. The wallpaper peeled at the edges, the furniture looked decades old, and the air carried a faint scent of mildew. He locked the door and tossed his bag onto the chair, eager to get some sleep before his morning meeting. As he reached for the television remote, the screen flickered to life on its own. Static filled the room, followed by a whisper—soft, almost a breath against his ear. "Get out." Arif’s stomach twisted. He turned off the TV and looked around. The room was empty. Convincing himself it was just exhaustion playing tricks on him, he changed into his nightclothes and slipped under the covers. But sleep didn't come easy. The air felt heavier, the silence too sharp. Then, at 3:06 AM, a scratching sound echoed from the closet. Arif sat up, heart hammering. "Hello?" No response. The scratching grew louder, more frantic. Then came the whispers—many voices overlapping, speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he slowly got out of bed and approached the closet. His fingers trembled as he reached for the handle. The door burst open on its own. Nothing was inside—just empty shelves. But the whispers didn’t stop. Then, he felt it. A breath on his neck. Arif spun around, but no one was there. The room’s atmosphere grew suffocating, the air thick with an unseen presence. He grabbed his phone to call the front desk, but there was no signal. The whispers turned into a low, guttural growl. The bathroom door creaked open. With a sinking feeling, Arif stepped toward it. Inside, the mirror had fogged over, and words slowly appeared, as if written by an invisible finger. "You took my room. Now, I take you." The lights flickered, and suddenly, the mirror shattered. A shadow rose from the shards, tall and featureless, its hollow eyes locked onto him. Arif stumbled back, but invisible hands clamped around his wrists, yanking him toward the bathroom. He screamed. The next morning, the receptionist sighed as the housekeeper approached her, trembling. "Room 306 is empty again," the housekeeper whispered. "But there are claw marks on the walls. And… blood." The receptionist nodded, unsurprised. "He’s taken another one." She picked up the key and placed it back on the hook, waiting for the next unfortunate guest.
By SHAKIB2 years ago in Horror
Tuen Mun Road: Hong Kong’s ‘Highway of Death’ and the Ghosts That Haunt Its Asphalt
The Spookiest History of Tuen Mun Road: Hong Kong's "Highway of Death" In spite of common misconceptions that it is part of mainland China, Tuen Mun Road is a treacherous road in Hong Kong with heavy traffic but more significantly, a reputation for being one of the most haunted locations in Asia. Built in the late 1970s to connect the more densely populated regions of Kowloon to Tuen Mun and Yuen Long's less crowded districts, this 20-kilometer highway has been linked to tragedy, superstition, and ghostly experiences. Its less-than-cheerful nickname, the "Highway of Death," belies the tragic tales that dominate its past.
By Kyrol Mojikal2 years ago in Horror