It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

After a whirlwind of festivities at a recent wedding, my wife and I decided to take a much-needed break and booked a charming stone cottage for a night at a tranquil hill station. When we arrived at the cottage in the early afternoon, we were greeted by the breathtaking sight of a cluster of cottages nestled along the hill slopes. The road to the resort wound its way up the hill, ending at our destination—a secluded haven at the hilltop, overlooking the city below. The cottages, each made of sturdy stone blocks, exuded a rustic charm and promised a cozy retreat. We chose this place not only for its tranquility but also for my long-standing desire to try astrophotography, as…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

After a whirlwind of festivities at a recent wedding, my wife and I decided to take a much-needed break and booked a charming stone cottage for a night at a tranquil hill station. When we arrived at the cottage in the early afternoon, we were greeted by the breathtaking sight of a cluster of cottages nestled along the hill slopes. The road to the resort wound its way up the hill, ending at our destination—a secluded haven at the hilltop, overlooking the city below. The cottages, each made of sturdy stone blocks, exuded a rustic charm and promised a cozy retreat. We chose this place not only for its tranquility but also for my long-standing desire to try astrophotography, as…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

After a whirlwind of festivities at a recent wedding, my wife and I decided to take a much-needed break and booked a charming stone cottage for a night at a tranquil hill station. When we arrived at the cottage in the early afternoon, we were greeted by the breathtaking sight of a cluster of cottages nestled along the hill slopes. The road to the resort wound its way up the hill, ending at our destination—a secluded haven at the hilltop, overlooking the city below. The cottages, each made of sturdy stone blocks, exuded a rustic charm and promised a cozy retreat. We chose this place not only for its tranquility but also for my long-standing desire to try astrophotography, as…