Storyy Hut

Young Evelyn hadn’t set out to be a war reporter. In early 1940s, women seldom did so, but young Evelyn was different. She was a budding journalist, eager and ambitious yet confined to writing human interest stories for the morning daily. She had grown up in a household where current events and world affairs were freely discussed over dinner. Often she would hear the stories of the Great War and chafe at the limitations placed on her by the virtue of her gender. She yearned to cover the stories that mattered, stories that shaped the world. In pursuit of this cause, she repeatedly applied for overseas assignments but was only met with rejection. “The front line is a cruel place, one not for a woman” she’d often hear the editor say but her tenacity knew no bounds. She was driven by a belief to tell the war-bound tales from where the bombs fell and lives were torn apart. Her breakthrough, however, came unexpectedly. An older correspondent, tom Anderson, was critically injured in a bombard

My toes wriggled in my boots, a smile playing on my lips as I stood at the entrance of my new flat, the one I’d just leased. From the day I first went downtown with all its vibrant hues and sweet commotion bustling with activity, I longed to move to this part of the city. When I found a decent apartment near the square at an incredible rent, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity slide. I opened the door to let the musky air out and stepped inside. It was a typical two-bedroom apartment with its enormous white walls begging to be decorated. The place was still empty, but the movers were to arrive any second. It was a modest bargain, understandable given the price, but this prime location made up for it. I turned on the fan and, taking in a deep breath, slumped against the wall. I relished the scene of the empty apartment, my body tingling with a sense of achievement. I had managed to get a place to stay in a decent neighborhood, all by myself. Despite initial apprehensions about the

I was ten when my family moved to Alabama. It was my very first summer in Huntsville and as much as my young eyes adored viewing new wonders of this world, I was saddened by the lonesome that I was carrying from the past few months. Moving to a new place was an incredibly unfamiliar experience for me, as was leaving all my friends and familiar faces behind. This upheaval had a grave impact on my mind, making me reluctant to make new acquaintances. This went on for a few months until my parents, concerned about my isolation, decided it would be beneficial for me to socialize with other kids at a neighborhood park and so every other day I went to this park, adjacent to a cemetery, on maple hills… our go-to neighborhood park for our brief stay in that city. That day, a dark overcast one as much as I remember, was my first desperate attempt to meet new people, which I believed was the only way to escape my ordeal. Coming from a place with terribly hot tropical days, the sun never bother

  Year – 2003: Jayant was returning from the cold, picturesque town of Manali after dropping off his passengers, a newlywed couple on holiday. Their incessant stoppages, coupled with the endless queue of cars around the time-honored settlement nestled within the enchanting Himalayas, meant he had to depart at dusk. The crimson hue of the sunset was a sweet foreboding of the imminent hours of darkness and the menacing phenomena that these revered ancient hills brought with them. Jayant, despite being conditioned by his orthodox family, had never been a keen follower of spirituality, but he had heard his share of tales of spirits haunting the woods of these mystical hills. As the path ahead of him twisted and turned, he smiled at the recollection of such creations of the mind. The first leg of the journey went comfortably; he even managed a stopover at a roadside eatery attached to a small motel. There, he met Sajan Singh, a fellow trucker out on a commercial assignment in these lone

Amidst the gloomy parlors and strangulating societal norms of Victorian England, is a tale deep-rooted in a world where appearances concealed dark secrets... one such is the tale of the “syndicate of shadows” and it’s enigmatic leader- Sir Reginald.  Mind you, he wasn’t just another heartless villain but a man so terribly torn between his hunger for power and the weight of hidden vulnerabilities for beneath his mask, the mask of control and power, lay the scars of a tragic past that drove him to the edge to exploit others to such extremes... Ada and Jacob, while seemingly reserved to the role of servants, could not be brushed off as mere pawns. They were indeed bright young individuals with dreams and unwavering hope however these luxuries had been long set aside (but not completely forgotten), to shield their families against the unforgiving business of the world.. Despite this Ada’s fragile frame and eyes deprived of their magnificent sparkle, she moved around the house with grace an

The crisp air of Mussoorie enveloped me as I returned to my ancestral home after thirteen years. Memories flooded my mind, especially those of a childhood friend whose laughter lingered in the recesses of my memory. Her image remained vivid—a bubbly girl with lush black hair intertwined into curls framing her rosy-cheeked face. It was the summer of '99 when we shared a tender moment, our first kiss, just before I  departed for Delhi, merely a month after my 13 th birthday. Fate had swept me away, leaving behind cherished memories and an ache in my heart. Returning to Mussoorie, I sought her amidst familiar streets and homes, only to find her residence occupied by strangers. But fate always has a peculiar way of reuniting kindred spirits, I liked to believe so for faith was one of the few things keeping me together nowadays- I sighed. One particular serendipitous day, while lost in the reverie of our past adventures, I glimpsed a figure in the woods—familiar, yet surreal. I raced o

As I sat up in bed, the realization of the nightmare's grim reality weighed heavily on my mind, grappling with a mix of fear and curiosity. How could something so hauntingly vivid surpass the realm of dreams and manifest itself in this waking reality? This question wildly swirled around in my brain, pushing me to the verge of losing my mind . My mind frantically searched for a justification or a possibility that could explain this abnormal occurrence but the exercise went futile… I had a plethora of questions but all the just answers seemed elusive. Just then the alarm clock beeped besides me, dragging me out of this trance. “Today is a special day; please don’t ruin it” I reminded myself as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rose unsteadily onto my feet. The room felt different now, charged with an eerie energy that made my skin prickle with unease. By the time I had freshened up and put-on the baggiest pullover I owned to hide my bruised-up wrist, a marvelous odor fill

My 16th birthday was just around the corner and my parents, undoubtedly knowing how much the day meant to me decided to throw a party for all of my friends at none other than Uncle Ben’s restaurant which was a small place owned by my father’s friend, Mr. Ben. Talking about the restaurant, it was a decent sized place, nothing too remarkable, with its basement utilized as a separate area for celebrations especially birthdays however the fact that it was located far from the city, amidst the woods and adjacent to the eerie mountainous highway was rather exciting after all, I didn’t mind getting a little scared. The night before the big day was filled with anticipation as I snuggled into bed with utter bliss. However, I had trouble drifting off to sleep in the dimly lit and a heavily clouded night. I listened intently to the light showers of rain outside the window as the wind howled and trees rustled. Eventually, a moment of silence prevailed, allowing my mind to finally give

“I am sorry but we did everything we could” the heads surgeon’s words landed heavily on me. My heart fell at those words and within a jiffy my world came tumbling down, shattering into a thousand pieces. A lone tear traced its path down my cheek as I rushed towards her. The walls of the hospital were closing in on me with the never ending fluorescent lights casting an unsettling pallor. My footsteps echoed through the corridor and reverberated with my unsteady heart. At-last I reached the room where she was kept. I looked at the plate besides the door- the name “Divya” engraved on it and delicately embraced by twin rose leafs. It was the same room where we had spent hours dreaming about our life together once this ordeal was over… oblivious to the fact that it were to meet such a fateful end. My hands trembled and time seemed to distort as I slowly started to push open the door afraid of shattering the delicate illusion that she was still with me… I drew the curtains aside and th