Chilling Kota Chronicles: The Eerie Fourth Floor Encounter

ghost stories

ghost stories


In the heart of Kota, a bustling city known for its educational institutions, a series of spine-tingling ghost stories unfold. Amid the academic pursuit of dreams, a group of young girls found themselves entangled in an enigmatic tale that defied explanation. This is one such tale of inexplicable occurrences that transpired on the sinister fourth floor of their hostel.

ghost stories

The Sinister Fourth Floor:

During my ninth and tenth grades, I resided in a hostel in Kota, a place teeming with hopes and aspirations. The hostel was divided into four floors, housing around 25 to 27 girls. Strangely, the fourth floor remained uninhabited, with only occasional visits from cleaning staff. Rumors of a past tragedy lingered – a quiet girl had once attempted suicide from that very floor. Despite the eerie history, stress often blurred the lines between reality and the supernatural.

In those days, I had a habit of waking up around 3 or 4 in the morning to study diligently before breakfast. My roommate, on the contrary, was a night owl who burned the midnight oil till 2 or 3 am, often waking me up before retiring.

One fateful night, my roommate woke me with an ashen face and bloodshot eyes. Concerned, I inquired about her distress, but she dismissed it and fell back asleep. Assuming it was a squabble with her boyfriend, I resumed my studies. However, an unsettling feeling crept over me – an inexplicable sensation of being watched. Fear gripped me, and I abandoned my books to seek solace in slumber.

The following morning, I confronted my roommate, who distanced herself with curt replies. Eventually, she unraveled a chilling narrative that sent shivers down my spine.

She recounted an ordinary evening around 12 to 12:30 am, a time eerily aligned with a previous suicide on the same floor. Preparing coffee, she felt an uncanny presence trailing her. Turning, she saw me. Yet, something was amiss – I lacked my glasses, flip-flops, and the small black thread my mother tied around my wrist. A fleeting thought, she questioned, “Early riser today?” I nonchalantly suggested we venture to the fourth floor’s balcony for a bit of fun. Obliging, she accompanied me upstairs. After a few weather-related remarks, I uttered a single, haunting word – “Jump.” Panic ensued, and her pleas fell on deaf ears as I grew increasingly insistent – “Jump, Jump, Jump!!!” Disturbed by my newfound aggression, she retreated inside, only to discover me peacefully asleep in the dorm.

Her bloodshot eyes now held a chilling explanation, painting an unsettling portrait of that night’s uncanny events. 

The story remains etched in my memory, a testament to the thin veil that separates our reality from the uncanny. The hostel’s corridors may have long ceased to echo with our presence. Yet, the echoes of that chilling encounter continue reverberating, reminding me that life’s tapestry is woven with threads of both the mundane and the inexplicable.

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