Storyy Hut

Fathima woke up drenched in sweat, her throat parched, her breath ragged with panic, and her mind was singly focused on the terrible ordeal she had just gone through. A dream, however peculiar or daunting, could not have loosened her spirits, however it was the mystery around her dreams from the past week that seemed to unnerve Fathima. Every night, in the tranquility of her sleep, she dreamt of a man- wise in age and serene in disposition- who foretold her future… an event, a fair warning. Though she initially brushed it off as a mere coincidence, the repetition had begun to scare her and today, her fright had reached her Zenith for the man had possibly foretold her death- “The end of this life for her”- to be precise with his words. She glanced at the scar on her arm from her accident last week- yet another instance of her dream manifesting itself into reality. Icy shackles of fear gripped her and suffocated her, prompting her to gasp for breath. This continued for some moment...

Mud swallowed every step that private Thompson took. The November rain had turned the mooring lands of Hürtgen Forest into a sucking mire, its damp air reeking of decay and rot. He trudged forward, armed with his mud covered rifle, in this eerily silent forest with its trees casting a suffocating gloom over him. Last night, his regiment had been ambushed by the Germans, forcing them to disperse in the dead of night to avoid being gun down. He remembered losing the company of his comrades, and then his balance as he tripped midflight in this usurping mud land. The next thing he knew; he was in the middle of nowhere in this hellish battle land. Alone and forgotten. But then he saw them, in a distance, a heart-wrenching march of death. He hid, he crawled through the muddy swampy land till he reached a point where these wavering figurines took the shape of soldiers- slow but fluid and unwavering in their movements. They stood in the mist-shrouded trench ahead. Their uniforms were old—b...

James tapped the wooden table impatiently, watching condensation gather around his untouched whiskey glass. He listened intently to the low hum of the café that blended into the patter of rain against the window. Outside, the amber glow of the city hid behind the curious horde of people, their shadows masked by the night. He glanced at his watch- 7.45 p.m. He sighed, Elise had been late. She had chosen this place for its serenity, unpretentious display of depositions. Here time crawled slower, a thousand whispers resonated within its walls- a perfect place, she vouched, for people who had met over text. They had met over a blind dating app- maybe not  met  per se but they had exchanged messages—long, meandering texts filled with book recommendations, thoughts on existence, and the shared grief of feeling a little misplaced in the world. James had felt something in their conversations, something rare that he hadn’t felt before- the rush of dopamine was certainly addicting for h...

The engine roared as Jake’s foot pressed against the gas pedal. He had just got out of the dealer with this fine specimen of German engineering which felt like an unrestrained colt under the expertise of his hands, just waiting for its master’s command. He had managed to strike an unbelievably good bargain with the dealer who seemed too keen to get this car off his hands. “A car like this at such a price is a definite steal” Thought Jake as his car raced through the downtown “I wonder why the dealer wouldn’t cash-in on its real worth” But he pushed these thoughts out and single-mindedly fixated his mind upon the raging engine that pushed the speedometer higher and higher. His heart raced and his veins pumped thrill as adrenaline took over his mind. The roar of the engine coupled with the empty intersection didn’t help in easing this rush. The car seemingly communicated its intent to be unleashed as it thundered with every flick of his foot and responded marvelously with every twist...

Kolkata, rightly acknowledged as the city of joy, is a major metropolitan of India which prides itself as a hotspot of various cultures and inspirations, as it rose from a strong colonial influence to establish itself as a mixture of both hemispheres and a cosmopolitan which has created a distinct identity as an amalgamation of a multitude of people. Famed for its culinary mastery and remarkable architecture, it manages to hides some dark mysteries within its folds, exhibiting its misfortune to some ill-fated. *** Year- 1996 Mr. Bhattacharya was a man of science, a firm believer in the evidentiary sciences behind the myth of paranormal, he was closely associated with many science clubs and awareness groups during his college days itself. A bank employee and a family man, his profile was amenable to any other common man you would see walking down the streets of Kolkata. A man of prolific caliber and a perfectionist to the core, he would usually stay in his small cabin after his usual of...

The sky was a gloomy shade of twilight- a familiar in-between- just like him, Aarav thought, as he sat beside Ishika on the old park bench. He waited, as he had been for the past so many years… waiting for the sun to set on a crimson evening, waiting for an excuse to meet Ishika, waiting for that moment when she might, just for once, see what lurked within the confines of his heart. But years passed and she apparently never did… Ishika leaned in as she spoke about Raj. Lately it was always him. “I mean Raj is sweet and thoughtful” her hands moved through the air as she spoke, as if sculpting the wind “I even offered to wait for him, but I feel he doesn’t get me, you know? Like-Like you do, Aarav” His heart clenched at her words. He sometimes envied Raj for the infatuation that he received from Ishika… that Aarav could never, no matter how hard he tried but Raj reveled in this bliss, which was not his to take. Meanwhile Ishika glanced at him for consolation, and he offered her a tight s...

Rhea’s stomach fluttered with a mix of anticipation and delight as she navigated through the transient streets of Delhi. Accustomed to the ways of a small town, Rhea had never fathomed as a child about the dreams that this vast city would imbibe into her. Perhaps that was why she left her tranquil home in Banaras to study at one of Delhi’s most prestigious colleges. Those couple of years really did bring her closer to her grandmother before she moved abroad to pursue a promising career in economics. Since then it had been more than two years since she set foot into this vibrant agglomerate and now, finally back, Rhea was more than eager to visit her beloved grandparents. As her cab raced through the chaotic Delhi traffic, every minute felt like an eternity, the longest of her life, until she finally arrived. The house seemed exactly as she remembered it when she had left it, the rose plants nestled amongst the dandelions besides the garage that prided itself in the arrayed car collecti...

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...