13 Haunted Stories

By Sanjana Butala

Ever thought what would happen if the things you interact with in your everyday life posed as a source of terror?

The water you look at every day, or the Uber ride you take to your favorite coffee shop or the elevator you take to your office ….what if they begin to haunt your lives?

13 Haunting Stories presents 13 short tales portraying the simple parts of life as an inspiration for horror and paranormal experiences.

This book will make you question with fear, even the things that have always seemed normal and reassuring.

Dive into a journey of the scariest, horrifying episodes of terror and revisit your own life in a way you may have never imagined!

Because the greatest horror lives within you!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sanjana Butala
• Release date: Oct 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393120384

Book preview

The Ice Cream Truck

It had been a wonderful day. The birthday party had gone well and my four year old daughter was completely satisfied. The balloons, the cake, the candy, the decoration, the food, the guests—it was all simply exhilarating. People do not usually celebrate fourth birthdays with such grandeur. Such glamour is saved for the first and fifth birthdays. However, I did not know if I would be with her next year. I had to make this one the best birthday she had ever had.

Despite her contentment, Sarah kept complaining of one thing—there was no ice cream in the party. That, however, was not a mistake. It was a very resolute decision. I had strictly asked the party planners to refrain from keeping ice cream in the menu because Sarah was acutely allergic to it. She would develop boils all over her face and her hands would swell up. She found it difficult to breathe and had even been admitted in the hospital once. Doctors said that if she had ice cream before she turned five, she could possibly die. I could not of course explain this to my little child, but that did not mean that I could give up the responsibility of her safety. I did not mind her being angry at me for not having given her ice cream. My chief concern was her well-being.

Sarah was a sweet child but could be very stubborn at times. When she did not get her ice-cream even after the party ended, she was tremendously disappointed. She did not sleep with me and chose to sleep on the floor of the bedroom. I did not bother too much since I knew she would not last the night there. She would end up coming to sleep next to me, as always, and I was sure of that.

The birthday party had been a tough job and I was completely tired that night. That was also one reason why I decided it was best to let Sarah cool her anger on her own. I was sure to filter my fatigue as frustration if I had to deal with her. So I got into my bed and fell asleep almost immediately while my little one slept on the cold marble floor.

It was 3 am. My eyes opened and I looked at the clock in front of me. I felt like I had heard some loud sound. Before I turned, I got a small peep from the window next to me. There was an ice cream truck standing on the road at a distance. The lights were on and a man stood inside the truck. The truck bore an open sign and I saw a child coming towards it running as fast as she could. For a second I mistook it to be someone I didn’t know. Then I realized that it was my daughter Sarah. My hazy memory suddenly recalled that the sound I had woken up to was the sound of my four-year old slamming the bedroom door behind her. I turned to see that my daughter was gone. I turned on the lamp next to me. It stood on a wooden drawer and I pulled the drawer to pick up my spectacles. It certainly was Sarah and she was running towards an ice cream truck.

I could not understand why the truck was standing on the road at such an odd hour of the night. I had often seen such trucks on hot summer afternoons and then it was completely understandable. The sight of sweating kids running towards the truck that would sing these jolly good tunes was very sweet. However, right now I did not get the same vibes.  I could not fathom why a truck was standing at 3 am on a frosty winter night. Who would buy ice cream at such an odd time? I could think of only one answer to my question. People have strange cravings and stranger are the people who placate them. 

I could care less for people, but not Sarah. I knew that Sarah could not have the ice cream, under any circumstances. She could not have one on a hot summer afternoon and mostly certainly not in the middle of a freezing winter night. It could prove fatal for her. There was no chance to take chances.

It seemed slightly funny and slightly eerie that she had been complaining about ice-cream all day and now there stood an ice cream truck right outside our door. It was like she had some evil premonition. The thought sent chills down my spine and I felt goose bumps. The need to reach her as soon as possible raced in my brain.

In my ice cream printed pajamas, I ran downstairs as fast as I could. I jerked the door open, wondering how Sarah had been able to reach it so soon, and threw myself outside the door.

I looked at the road. There was no ice cream truck and no sign of Sarah. I ran all along the road searching for her. I tried to look everywhere in the dim light of the lamp post on the road. It was all isolated and there was not a man in sight.

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I looked up at the sky. It was gray, hazy and completely blank. The trees reaching towards the sky twirled their branches looming over the road. I stared at the edges of the road. They lead to nowhere, running parallel to each other. I picked up my phone but there was absolutely no signal. It was weird how even technology ditches us in times of need. I thought of calling out to my neighbors, but what would I tell them? That my four-year old daughter ran to an ice-cream truck and she is nowhere to be found. In their sleepy eyes, they would probably fend off my story as a dream.

Having no other option, I sat on the old, dirty bench, next to the lamp post, afraid and trembling. I did not know what to do. Below my feet there was a layer of snow, covering the freezing grass. All I could see were my footprints. There were no tire tracks to follow and no sounds to monitor. It was all completely quiet. I closed my eyes and held my neck with my hands, trying to gather myself in the silence.

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When I opened my eyes, I saw a long shadow stretching across the road. Someone was in the trees behind the lamp post.

Ice cream? said someone from the shadows. He walked up to me through the trees and held his hand out. I fainted the instant I saw what he had held. On a cone made from human limbs, stood Sarah’s head shrouded in melting blood.

The Girl who went Missing

We never saw her again. She went missing twenty years ago. The last I remember seeing her was when she left the house to visit a friend. Mr. Flynn told the reporter. Sir, have there been no missing reports filed? the reporter asked Mr. Flynn, who replied, There was only one filed. However, we lost hope of finding her the moment we found a ribbon covered in blood in the bushes near Raymond Park. She has died and we are certain of it. Our girl is gone. Mr. Flynn hid his face, almost in tears. The reporter offered him a handkerchief and after Mr. Flynn wiped his tears, the reporter thanked him and left.

The door shut behind him and Mrs. Flynn came into the living room. Of course you are certain she has died. Why, you killed her yourself my darling. Shhhh! Mr. Flynn cried out. Will you ever think before talking? With her huge potbelly, Mrs. Flynn plopped herself on the sofa. The reporter is gone William and he is sure someone kidnapped her and killed her. Why worry? she