Hi I'm Aditya and since childhood I've never believed in ghost or ghost stories. Horror films? Fine—I've got my share of experience with them. Jump scares, haunted toys, dark basements. all great fun. But ghosts? Spirits? Demons? I never paid that any mind. Not until hearing about Gaurav Tiwari.
You may have heard his name. He was India's leading paranormal researcher. A man who didn't merely believe in ghosts—he hunted them. Waded into haunted havelis and abandoned hospitals with nothing but a flashlight and a camera, seeking evidence. People respected him. Said he was fearless. But when he died, the tale changed. Some whispered something got him. Something… other than human.
I couldn't get it out of my mind—the last night before he passed away. That's where this story starts.
July 6, 2016. Delhi sweated under its typical monsoon temperature. Gaurav had just come back home to his apartment from work in Dwarka, where he lived in an apartment with his wife, Priya. They'd just been married recently for a few months. Everything looked fine on the outside—Gaurav was working, traveling, living his dream. He was a familiar TV face, thanks to programs like Bhoot Aaya. Everyone in the nation would write him letters, requesting him to investigate paranormal activity at their residences.
He'd spent that day searching an abandoned building in Janakpuri. One of those places that seemed… off. Rubble walls, rusty gates, shattered windows—the sort of place even sunlight couldn't brighten up. The owner had phoned, reporting that lights would flicker by themselves, loud footsteps at night, and there was always a sense of being watched.
Gaurav went in with his standard crew—EMF meters, cameras, the whole shebang. But something in that place unsettled him. His crew sensed it. He'd normally be joking around after a shoot, perhaps getting a cup of coffee. That evening, he said nothing. Secluded. Like he'd returned with something in tow.
At home, Priya was cooking dinner—dal on the stove, wafting a soft smell. Gaurav entered, and she turned to inquire, "You okay?"
He nodded, but he wasn't right he wasn't okay. His face was pale, he seemed tired very tired, as if he hadn't rested in ages.
"He said it was a very long day," he was trying his best to keep up a smile.
She didn't ask more. She knew his job could be tough. But tonight, even the silence seemed to weigh heavily.
While Priya slept, Gaurav sat at his desk, reviewing footage from Janakpuri. The apartment was silent, lit dimly by the screen of his laptop. Clutter of notebooks and wires encircled him. He was replaying over and over again one clip—something picked up by the basement camera. A movement. A shadow that crept across the wall, slow and unnatural. No team member was around. No light source. Just… darkness moving.
I overheard this portion from Vikram, who is one of Gaurav's closest teammates. Good guy. Not a liar. He told me Gaurav phoned him at 1 a.m.
"Did you see it?" Gaurav breathed down the phone.
"See what?" Vikram mumbled.
"That thing. The shadow. In the video. It's not… right."
"Maybe it's a glitch," Vikram replied, half-dozing.
There was a silence.
"I don't think it left," Gaurav said. "I feel it. It's still here."
Vikram brushed it aside at the time, but now wishes he had probed deeper.
Priya subsequently informed police Gaurav didn't sleep that evening. He movedaround, checkin locks, looking out of the windows as if something was lurking outside. At one point, she awoke and saw him standing in the bedroom doorway, he was terrified of something he was out of breath Priya tried to calm him down.
"She murmured come to bed.
He didn't reply.
He just stood there—listening.
The following morning, at 6 a.m., Priya was getting ready to go to work but Gaurav was nowhere to be found, Her gaze shifted she saw the bathroom door closed. She knocked.
"Gaurav?"
There was silence.
She attempted again. Nothing. Her heart started racing. She opened the door—and there he was. On the ground. Eyes shut, face pale. A faint black line traced along his neck, as if something had pressed there, slowly and hard. She screamed. Shook him. Called out his name repeatedly.
But he was dead.
The police arrived. They declared it a suicide. No forced entry, no letter. Just a man, on the bathroom floor with a peculiar dark mark across his throat.
Priya was sure—he wasn't depressed. He had projects. He had drive. He'd just taken on a new investigation in Pune. His friends were sure too. Everyone said the same thing: this wasn't the Gaurav they knew.
Then there were whispers. That he'd upset something in the Janakpuri case. That he'd crossed boundaries. Even his father mentioned that Gaurav had been restless in the weeks leading to his death. He'd say to Priya, "Something's following me. I can't shake it."
She'd believed him to mean stress. Now she wasn't so certain.
A week later, Vikram went back to Janakpuri—alone. No one knew he did it. He walked into the basement with his camera rolling. He told me the air felt like it was pressing down on him, thick and wet. Hard to breathe.
He stood where Gaurav stood.
And then he heard it.
A whisper.
Faint. Cold.
“You’re next.”
He bolted. Never looked back. Never spoke about that night again—except to me.
I don't know what murdered Gaurav Tiwari. Perhaps it was stress. Or perhaps he stumbled upon something that wasn't supposed to be discovered. Something old. Something bitter.
They still speak of him. They refer to him as a hero. A man who peered into the darkness so the rest of us wouldn't have to.
But me?
I believe he witnessed something that evening in Janakpuri. Something that didn't wish to be observed.
And it followed him home.
