The Creepy Mountain

Horror unlimited

Once upon a time there was a a boy whose name was Rahul. He was a very disciplined child, as he always obeys his parents but from inside he was having a creepy thoughts which developed the hobby of exploring horrifying places. He used to live in hostel the most of the time because of his studies. His hobby was to visit the places which are horrifying , too scary to visit.

Once he went to his house for summer vacations. Just a Few days of his vacations where spend very nicely but slowly he started missing his friends and mostly the creepy exploration he was keen of.

While he was relaxing in his room he heard his parents who were talking about a place to go for vacations with their son but they were worried about a creepy talks going on like fire in the jungle by nearby people those stay at that venue.

Rahul became curious to know about that creepy place, but he was hesitating to ask his parents about it. After the long discussions, the time came when they were ready to go at their scary destination, everything was packed all clothes, food, accessories, medication, but one thing his parents kept was very strange. They kept some stuff which was used by the Priest. Rahul was curious to know about it, so he questioned his parents about it ,”Mom! What’s all this stuff you have kept in the bag. Why we need these things at our vacation.” Mom replied to Rahul “Dear, don’t worry these things are only for your safety. I hope we will not be needing these.”

Revealing the destination

Rahul felt a chill run down his spine at his mother’s words. “For your safety…” echoed in his mind like a whisper from the shadows. He tried to laugh it off, but a part of him—the part that craved fear and the unknown horror—was thrilled.

They began their journey early the next morning. The drive took them through winding forest roads and sleepy villages until they reached a hill station called Devkund —a quiet, beautiful place surrounded by dense woods and mist-covered hills. But Rahul noticed something odd. Locals they passed by gave strange creepy glances to their car, some even murmuring prayers under their breath. He caught one old woman whisper to another, “Why would anyone go to that scary place… especially with a child?”

That night, they settled into an old colonial-style guesthouse on the edge of a forest. The building was charming but had an eerie aura—too quiet, too still. That silence was broken only by the loud ticking of a grandfather clock in the main hall.

Priest’s items

After dinner, Rahul couldn’t sleep. The curiosity burned inside him like wildfire. He tiptoed into the living room, where the priest’s items were packed—a silver crucifix, a small bottle of holy water, some incense, a rosary, and ancient-looking scriptures wrapped in cloth.

As he picked up the old book, a sudden knock echoed on the door. Three sharp knocks. He froze. No one else seemed to have heard it. He slowly moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
But Nothing found.

But just as he was about to close the curtain, Rahul stood blank while he caught a creepy glimpse—a figure standing at the edge of the forest. Tall. Still. Watching.
The next morning, over breakfast, Rahul finally confronted his parents. “What is this place? What aren’t you telling me?” His father sighed, his face suddenly serious.
“The forest nearby is called Bhairav Van. Nobody goes there. Not after what happened two years ago.”
His mother added quietly, “Some say it’s cursed. People who go in… either don’t come back, or they come back changed.” That was all Rahul needed to hear.

Facing the fear

That evening, against all warnings, Rahul sneaked out with a flashlight and the priest’s rosary in his pocket. He stepped into that creepy forest, drawn by the call of the unknown.

The deeper he went, the colder it got. The trees stood unnaturally still. The sounds of insects faded. Even the wind refused to blow.

And then, he saw it.

An old, abandoned temple, crumbling with age, covered in vines. The air around it was heavy, as if it was holding its breath.

Inside the temple, there was a shrine—but not to any god he recognized. It was a grotesque figure with hollow eyes and a mouth stretched open in silent agony. Blood-red handprints stained the walls, and candles flickered without flame.

Suddenly, Rahul felt a horrifying presence behind him.
He turned. There was Nothing.

Then—

Whispers. Little Low. Gravely sound. Getting closer.

He tried to run, but the path behind him had vanished. The forest had shifted, trapping him.

And in the shadows, the figure from the window emerged—taller than any man, draped in tattered robes, face hidden beneath a hood.

The whispers grew louder. The thing reached out of horror —
And everything went black.

Rahul woke up gasping for breath.
He was lying in the middle of the ancient temple, but the place had changed. The walls now pulsed like they were alive—breathing, almost. That scary idol at the altar was no longer a statue. Its eyes were open. Watching him.
He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding with horror, and he realized the rosary was gone.
A soft voice echoed in the darkness.

“You shouldn’t have come here, child.”

It was neither male nor female. It felt like the voice was inside his head, slithering around his thoughts. Shadows moved along the temple walls, though there was no light to cast them. They began to take shape—arms, legs, heads… but no faces. Blank, writhing forms. And they were all crawling toward him.

Rahul bolted through a broken archway, not knowing where he was going. The forest had become a maze of horror, endless and shifting. Trees looked the same, paths curled into themselves, and the whispers followed him like a scent.

The boy is gone

Back at the guesthouse, the clock struck 3:00 AM—the witching hour.

Rahul’s mother jolted awake, drenched in sweat. She shook her husband in horror.
“He’s gone,” she said.
He didn’t ask how she knew. He just reached for the bag with the priest’s tools.

The two of them followed the path into the forest, guided only by instinct and a strange pull—like the trees themselves were leading them. They could hear something too: soft chanting in an ancient tongue, growing louder with every step.

Suddenly, the air turned thick. The forest floor was littered with bones. The path was too horrifying to watch. And ahead, they saw the temple—its spires now glowing faintly red, like burning embers.

A Narrow Escape

Inside, Rahul was on his knees, eyes wide open but unseeing, murmuring something in a voice that wasn’t his own. The idol’s eyes glowed brighter, feeding off him. Shadows danced around his body like smoke.

His father stepped forward, holding the crucifix high, and began chanting from the scriptures.

The creepy forest screamed.

Branches snapped, wind howled, and the shadows recoiled. The idol thrashed and cracked as if in pain. Rahul let out a roar, inhuman and guttural, as a black mist burst out from his mouth.

His mother grabbed the holy water and splashed it on him. The mist sizzled and screeched before vanishing into the ground like steam.

Rahul collapsed.

When he opened his eyes again, he was himself. Pale, shaking, but free.

The temple had crumbled into ash.

As they walked back through the forest, the wind began to blow again. Crickets chirped. The world felt lighter.

But as they reached the edge of the woods, Rahul looked back one last time.

And in the distance… the idol’s eyes were still having the horrifying glow.

The days that followed were quiet—too quiet. Rahul returned to the hostel, trying to act normal, to focus on studies and forget what had happened. But something had changed.

He still saw the forest in his dreams.

Still heard the creepy whispers in the silence.

Still felt the horror in his eyes like some one watching him when no one was around.

At night, shadows in the corners of his room seemed to stretch farther than they should. The mirror on his cupboard sometimes showed scary things that weren’t there—like glimpses of the temple, the idol, or… himself standing still while his reflection smiled.

Some stories aren’t meant to have endings anyway.

They just… wait.
In the shadows.
Watching.
Whispering.

Thanks for walking into the dark with me 🖤

Anytime you’re ready for the next nightmare, I’ll be here.