Tales of Supernatural Horror

By Shantnu Tiwari

3 tales to chill your bones.

The Scottish Horror: What do you do if your cars breaks down in front of the most haunted house in Scotland?

The Ghost Train: What do you do if you are stuck in a lonely field, and a ghostly train appears? Do you board it?

Aboard the Ghost Train: 3 dangerous criminals escaping from the prison find  a ghostly train in the forest. Are they desperate (and foolish) enough to board it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shantnu Tiwari
• Release date: Nov 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536529470

Book preview

1

It was supposedly the most haunted house in Britain. A hundred people had died there in the last fifty years, with most deaths unexplained or unexplainable.

Of course, no one had died in the last few years because the Scottish government, worried about bad publicity, had declared the whole area off-limits. The place had gone quiet; the deaths had stopped.

Till a rich American businessman had come in, dollars flying, and decided to host a party there. The poor fool. He and his arrogant guests would come to regret their poor choice of venue. But not before they dragged me into their foolhardy game of death.

Do you think ghosts are evil? No ghost, ghoul, or demon could match the wickedness of the human heart. Remember that as you read this story. Humans are the wickedest of them all.

My story started a few weeks ago in London, where I lived and worked. For weeks, I had been having bad dreams. Horrible dreams, which had me waking up screaming. All I could remember was an army of dead chasing me, ripping me apart into pieces. The same dream kept repeating over and over, and even though I knew it was a nightmare, I couldn't stop it. I couldn’t escape the circle of hell my nights had become.

I had seen doctors, psychiatrists, hypnotherapists, and every other quack there was. And every one of them told me it was all in my mind. Of course it was in my mind. I had never claimed otherwise. My problem had been how could I get it out of my head?

The quacks had no idea.

My poor wife had tried her best to help me. But it was getting too much for her. She was barely sleeping either, and her health had started to suffer. My illness was beginning to harm the ones I loved the most.

And then it got worse.

I was at a party, drinking fine champagne, eating a fried cheese stick, chatting to friends, when the world just stooped.

Everything went black and white. The sounds stopped, like someone had pressed the mute button. The smells vanished. Till a few seconds ago, I could smell my wife’s rose perfume. And then, I couldn’t. Though she was standing right next to me, I could smell nothing from her. I tried to taste the champagne, but it had no taste. It wasn’t bland like water. It had zero taste. All I could feel was a liquid sitting on my tongue and then flowing down my throat.

I felt like I had died and lost the use of my senses. Become the hungry ghost of Buddhist traditions. Cursed to roam the world in search of sense pleasures but unable to enjoy anything.

The world became small. I couldn’t breathe. The room was closing in on me. I tried to leave, rudely pushing a few of my friends aside. My wife tells me I pushed one so roughly, he fell on the table and taken it crashing down. Of course, I hadn’t heard the table crash. I had lost all sounds.

All this time later, many friends still refuse to talk to me.

I had run out of the party in panic, and if it hadn’t been for my ever-loving wife, I might have done something stupid. Like kill myself. I must be honest, the thought had crossed my mind.

That had been the breaking point. I decided I had to do something. I decided to visit Edinburgh. I had been a student there and thought perhaps the fresh Scottish air would help rid me of my delusions. My wife had been slightly hurt when I suggested I go alone. She didn’t say it, but I saw the hurt in her eyes. But I had convinced her that I couldn’t depend on her like a crutch all the time. I needed to fix my problems on my own. I hoped once I left the polluted skies of London and got some fresh Highland air, I would be cured. Like magic.

Yes, I was still deluded. Even then.

Reluctantly, my wife agreed. She packed my bags, bought a ticket for me. She even drove me to the airport.

If there’s a problem, call me, she had said.

Don’t worry. My best friend Jake is there. He’s a doctor. He’ll help me. I had lied, of course. Jake was dead. Killed by my own hands. I hadn’t told anyone. Of course, Jake’s death by my hands had nothing to do with my delusions. That’s what I told myself everyday.

Standing alone in the airport, I had finally felt a little happy. I don’t know why, but I had a superstitious feeling that all my problems would be solved in Scotland. Like Scotland was some sort of a Mecca for me.

Of course, if I had known what was going to happen to me in Scotland, I would have just gone home. Maybe even killed myself to save the misery I was going to have to suffer.

But of course, at that time, I was like a babe, a fool, an innocent. I had no idea of the horrors waiting for me.

Before I tell you my story, I must warn you. The police do not believe my account. The official report says I bumped my head and my memory is gone. They don’t say it, because the Scots are very polite, but they think I’m a bit cuckoo.

I don’t blame them. I am crazy, as I’ve just admitted to you a few paragraphs above. But that doesn’t mean my story is false. I would like you to read this story with an open mind and make your own decision whether it’s true or not. Even if you don’t believe me, you will understand why I acted the way I did.

So, without too much more delay, this is my story of the horrors I experienced in that little Scottish house.

2

I had found Edinburgh no better for my problems than London. I still felt depressed; only now, I didn’t have my wife to help me. I spent days walking the city, but it was no use. I still felt horrible.

Everywhere I went, I saw the ghost of Jake following me. He wasn’t angry; he just followed me quietly. I tried to ask him what he wanted, but he wouldn’t answer. Finally, I’d had enough and spent the next few days locked in my room.

Sick of being depressed all the time, I decided to rent a car and drive into the Highlands. The beauty of the Highlands cheered me a little. I stopped my car by the side of the beautiful Loch Ness to admire the heavenly sight. The lake was as blue as my wife’s eyes. As I looked at the lake, I remembered why I had fallen in love with her. And how I owed it to her to get better. She should have been here with me. I promised myself that when all this was behind me, I would bring her here for a second honeymoon.

The surface of the lake was calm. There was no wind, though I could feel a tiny cool breeze across my face. It brought with it the smell of the forest. The smell of pine trees and dew on the leaves. I remembered my first date with my wife, when we had gone to a forest like this. Neither of us knew how to cook, so we had just eaten cheese sandwiches. The New Forest in Hampshire didn’t have a lake as big as this, but there was a lovely little river.

As I sat by Loch Ness, I remembered that date. I had been so happy then. How had it all gone wrong? Why had the happy times left me? What had I done to deserve this?

Though in my heart, I knew. I had brought it on myself. I must have.

The calm Loch Ness no longer seemed calm. No, the lake itself was calm. There was no wind. No Nessie monster coming from the lake. Nothing wrong with the lake. It was my mind that had gone rogue.

The depression hit me like a hammer. One second, I was happy and cheerful. The next, I felt like I was drowning in shit. I wanted to die. I wanted