Real Horror Trip in Nainital: “Haunted Guesthouse & Lake of Lost Souls”

As the sun began to set, the three decided to go trekking on a nearby hill. It was peaceful at first, until Priya suddenly froze. From deep within the forest, a loud, piercing scream echoed. It was unlike anything they’d heard—neither human nor animal. The sound sent chills down their spines. Rohit called out, but there was no answer. Moments later, silence swallowed everything. No birds. No breeze. Nothing.

That night, back at the guesthouse, the atmosphere grew heavier. Sameer, who had laughed earlier, was now restless. He claimed to have seen someone at the window—though they were on the second floor. At midnight, he woke up with deep scratch marks on his arm. They looked fresh, like they’d been made moments ago. But there was nothing sharp in the room. Priya screamed when she noticed handprints—wet and smeared—on the wall near her bed.

Rohit, the logical one, tried to reason it out. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe Sameer had scratched himself in his sleep. But even he was beginning to feel something wasn’t right. The caretaker, strangely absent all day, suddenly knocked on their door just after 1 a.m. His tone was urgent. “Leave by morning,” he warned. “Don’t stay another night. This place… it remembers.”

But morning didn’t come fast enough.

Around 3 a.m., the room filled with a low chanting sound. Not from the hallway, but from inside the walls. It grew louder, overlapping with whispers and the sound of fingernails scratching wood. The lights flickered and then went out entirely. They lit their phone torches and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Sameer screamed—his arm now bleeding more intensely. The walls seemed to close in. A figure—tall, dark, with hollow eyes—appeared at the end of the corridor, slowly moving toward them.

In pure panic, they broke the window and jumped down to the ground below, injuring their legs but too terrified to stop. They scrambled to the car, shaking, crying, breathless. As Rohit turned the keys, the engine refused to start. The shadow moved closer. Priya cried out, “Please!” And then the car roared to life. They drove off at full speed, not stopping until they crossed the town border and saw the first lights of civilization.

Back in Delhi, their lives never returned to normal. Sameer’s wounds never healed completely—they reopened at random times, often in the middle of the night. Priya had recurring nightmares of someone whispering her name. And Rohit—ever the skeptic—refused to talk about Nainital at all. He avoided mountains, lakes, even fog. He’d become a shell of himself, afraid to be alone.

The guesthouse they stayed in was later found abandoned. No one remembered a caretaker like the one they met. The building, covered in vines and silence, stood as if it hadn’t housed anyone in years. Locals said it was cursed.

And though their trip was supposed to be a break from reality, what they experienced was more real—and terrifying—than anything they’d ever known. Sometimes, horror doesn’t knock. It whispers your name.

And waits.