u/personal_space_19901

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/vadodara/s/QCTbYygHqj

This went on for days. Maybe 3 or 4 days straight.

The tapping never really stopped. At first it was only coming from the storage room but after a while it started happening all over the house. The kitchen, the front door, the staircase leading upstairs, sometimes even from below their beds. Yes I know how ridiculous that sounds. Like some cliché horror movie shit. But this is exactly what was happening according to both my mum and maasi.

At this point both of them were getting genuinely terrified because they weren’t even sure anymore if this was supposed to be my naniji or something else entirely.

One afternoon both of them were home alone again when the tapping started. This time they got frustrated more than scared and decided they wanted to figure out what was actually making the sound. So they gathered whatever bravery they had left and went downstairs toward the storage room.

The tapping was still happening.

My maasi knocked on the door.

Three taps came back immediately.

That was enough for them to open it.

The room was dark because the windows were shut. And the storage itself was pretty large. They turned on the lights expecting to finally catch whatever was inside.

Nothing.

No person.
No animal.
Nothing hiding anywhere.

Just old equipment, an old fridge and a few books lying around.

No logical explanation at all.

They stood there confused for a few seconds trying to understand where the sound could possibly be coming from.

Then they turned around toward the door.

There were blood marks all over it.

From top to bottom.

Both of them completely panicked and ran outside the house straight toward the neighbour’s place. The neighbours calmed them down and called my nanaji explaining what had happened. He came back home immediately and checked the storage room himself.

And sure enough there were marks on the door.

Except it wasn’t blood.

It was ketchup.

That completely changed how my nanaji started viewing the situation. He became convinced the grief and denial after losing their mother was badly affecting both girls mentally and they needed proper psychiatric help.

So both my mum and maasi were sent for grief therapy in Ahmedabad where they stayed with relatives for a couple of weeks. And honestly, for some time it seemed like the therapy had actually worked.

The tapping stopped.

Or at least they stopped hearing it.

One night after work my nanaji decided to take both daughters and one of their friends out for dinner. When they returned home later that night, something immediately felt wrong to him.

Some of the lights inside the bungalow were on.

At first he thought maybe he simply forgot to switch them off before leaving.

But when they entered the house he noticed the furniture looked slightly different too. Not overturned or broken. Just… moved.

Small changes.

The kind only someone living there everyday would notice.

And my mum and maasi couldn’t have done it because they were with him the whole evening.

Then he entered one of the ground floor rooms.

The room was filthy.

There was food scattered everywhere like someone had been eating inside the house while they were gone. There were strange scratches across the walls and near the windows.

And right above one of the windows something had been carved into the wall.

“Marry me.”

That’s when my nanaji realised there was definitely somebody else inside the bungalow.

And almost immediately after that he heard the tapping again.

Same sound.

Coming from the storage room.

He immediately told my mum and maasi to go upstairs into their room while he checked downstairs himself.

He opened the storage room door and found a man standing inside holding a sickle.

He was wearing a white kurta and white pyjama. According to my nanaji his eyes looked abnormally wide, almost like he was heavily drugged or mentally unstable.

The man pointed the sickle toward him, almost signalling for him to back away.

My nanaji stayed calm and slowly started moving backward toward the staircase without turning his back on the man.

The second he reached the stairs the man suddenly lost it and charged toward him.

My nanaji ran upstairs immediately and pushed my mum and maasi inside one of the rooms while trying to shut the door before the man reached them.

But the man got there before the door fully closed.

My nanaji was holding the door shut with all his strength while the man tried forcing it open from outside.

In the middle of all that chaos my maasi jumped out of the first floor window and ran toward the neighbours for help.

Eventually my nanaji somehow managed to force the door shut completely.

By the time the neighbours arrived with a bat after hearing the screams, they could only hear my mum crying inside the room.

The man was gone.

Police arrived soon after and searched the entire bungalow but couldn’t find him anywhere.

Apparently he escaped through the back door.

The only thing left behind was the sickle lying downstairs in the hall.

This part also ended up getting bigger than expected. I’ll be dropping Part 3 in a while about who that person actually was.

Note: Yes, I used AI for punctuation. The incident itself is mine.

Ever wondered about those abandoned bungalows below Lal Baug bridge? The ones left in such strange conditions with almost everything still inside. Furniture, structure, belongings. Almost like people just got up and left one day and never came back. Why were they abandoned? What happened there? Well, I know why. Because this story is kind of connected to my family.

Before getting into that, let me explain the background a bit first. My family comes from a defence background going back generations. My father, my nanaji, even before him. Those bungalows are defence properties assigned to high ranking officers. This story is about my nanaji, my mum and my maasi.

Back in the late 80s, my nanaji, naniji, my mum and her older sister used to live in the right-most bungalow out of those houses. A few weeks before all this started, my naniji had passed away due to cancer. My maasi was around 16 at the time and my mum was probably 9 or 10. The death completely shattered the family, especially the daughters. And because my nanaji was in the Air Force, his shifts were irregular. Some nights, some mornings, some late evenings. Even when he was home he was usually exhausted or asleep before another shift. So most of the time both daughters were alone in that huge bungalow still trying to process losing their mother.

Now my maasi was heavily into horror films at the time. Evil Dead, Clockwork and all those kinds of movies were very popular back then. She also had a Ouija board. For those unfamiliar, a Ouija board is basically used to supposedly contact spirits and communicate with them through signs or answers.

One afternoon after school, my maasi convinced my mum that they should try to contact their mother through it. Looking back now it sounds stupid, but they were grieving children. And grief makes people do strange things when they’re desperate to believe someone is still there.

So they sat down and tried contacting my naniji. Asking questions. Asking if she was there. Asking for signs. Nothing happened. No answers. No movement. Nothing. Eventually they lost hope and gave up.

Until later that evening.

They started hearing rhythmic tapping sounds coming from a downstairs room that was mostly used as storage. Now those bungalows may not look huge from outside but they’re massive inside. Multiple rooms upstairs, downstairs, long hallways. And at night they used to feel even larger because most of the house would be dark.

Both my mum and maasi heard the tapping but neither of them mentioned it at first. Finally my mum asked if maasi could hear it too. My maasi admitted she could but tried calming her down saying it was probably nothing.

Then my mum asked,
“What if it’s mom?”

That changed everything.

Now they weren’t just hearing sounds anymore. They started believing there was a possibility their mother was actually trying to answer them.

So both of them slowly walked downstairs toward the storage room while the tapping continued. They reached the door but neither of them could gather the courage to open it. So instead they stood outside and asked,
“Mom… is that you?”

Three taps.

Both of them froze because in their minds this was exactly what they had been trying to do earlier with the Ouija board. Contact her.

After that they started asking more questions. Some got responses. Some didn’t. The questions were random and emotional and all over the place.

This continued until late at night when my nanaji finally came home from duty and found both of them still awake. Excited. Happy even. They told him everything.

But my nanaji didn’t believe any of it. Not because he was dismissive, but because he genuinely thought both daughters were coping with grief and denial. And honestly at first it did seem explainable.

When my maasi tried asking questions infront of nanaji, there were no responses. Nothing happened. So naturally he assumed the whole thing was in their heads. He didn’t realise at the time that this was only the beginning.

Didn’t realise this would become such a long story so I’ll upload the second part separately.

This incident requires a lot of details but it’s genuinely one of the creepiest things I’ve experienced and I still can’t explain it properly. I also have some evidence of it.

My mum, who is a single mother, and I used to live near the outskirts of Tarsali back when that whole side was still developing. There wasn’t much there except a few societies and small groups of people living there. Everything else was either open fields, swampy land or construction sites.

Right behind our society there was this wooded swamp-like area. I remember it always being strangely silent there apart from the wind.

Once when I was around 8 years old, my mum and I were walking our beagle nearby our place at night when suddenly I heard this strange whistling coming from somewhere inside the swamp.

I heard this strange whistling sound which at first sounded sort of like a bird.

But every whistle sounded different from the last one. The pitch kept changing constantly, sometimes higher, sometimes lower, with no consistency to it at all.

That’s what made it sound human-like.

I can’t really explain it accurately but even as a child it felt wrong.

I looked at my mum and she had this genuinely concerned almost terrified look on her face. She immediately grabbed my hand and told me we were going inside.

Even my beagle started acting weird.

And beagles come from a hunting background so she was usually very alert outdoors, but this was different. She suddenly became extremely alert and started barking aggressively toward the swamp.

Seeing both my mum and the dog react like that scared me more than the whistle itself.

After a while though I kind of forgot about it.

Then around two years later I heard it again.

I was outside late at night walking my beagle alone near the main road. There used to be this massive overgrown bush there near the roadside. Dense enough that even in daylight you couldn’t properly see through it and at night it looked like a solid black wall. Someone could easily stand behind it completely hidden and you would never know they were there unless they moved.

As I was finishing the walk and heading back home I heard the exact same whistling. Same pitch. Same inconsistency. Same human-like tones.

The moment I heard it my stomach dropped immediately because I remembered the exact feeling of seeing my mum staring toward the swamp that night years earlier.

I ran home as fast as I could and hid inside.

After that years went by and I thought about it less and less. I only ever told a handful of people about it and eventually it slipped through my mind.

Fast forward to this summer.

I’m 24 now and I had started dating my girlfriend kirti. We had moved toward the Sama side and used to go near Sindhrot late at night sometimes because there are a lot of wedding lawns there and you can sit quietly near the riverbank and watch fireworks from a distance.

That night there were barely any people around us.

As it got darker the fireworks started. They were far enough away that the light reaching us was very dim. We had to sit almost right at the edge near the river to see them properly.

Huge thunder clouds were moving in and rain felt imminent. The wind kept picking up and the whole atmosphere felt eerie as fuck.

PCR vehicles came around asking everyone to leave the area and move elsewhere because of the weather.

Most people left.

Kirti and I stayed.

We were sitting there smoking cigarettes when suddenly we heard the sound of a paddle dipping into the water.

Slow.
Methodical.

We turned and saw a figure steering what looked like a kayak maybe 50 or 60 feet away from the shore.

Kirti went back toward the activa to get more cigarettes and I stayed there alone staring at this person.

And then he started whistling at me.

My entire body froze.

Goosebumps everywhere.

It was the exact same whistle from my childhood. More than a decade later and I recognised it instantly. There was absolutely no mistaking it.

The figure was too dark to properly make out. All I could really see was the silhouette and what looked like a cap.

When the kayak was almost perpendicular to the shore he stopped paddling completely and slowly turned toward me.

Directly toward me.

I stood up and shouted,
“Kaun chhe bhai?”

He whistled a couple more times.

Then slowly turned the kayak around and paddled away into the darkness.

I’m a videographer so I almost always carry a camera with me. I had been recording the fireworks earlier and right before the kayak disappeared I managed to grab a audio recording with the whistling in it.

When kirti came back she was confused as fuck seeing how shaken I was. After I explained it to her she got freaked out too.

I know how ridiculous this sounds.

But I was genuinely convinced we were going to get murdered that night.

How did this whistling person follow me after 14 years all the way to Sindhrot? Was it a coincidence?
The whistling was exactly the same. There was no mistaking it. It sounded so unnatural. Who is this person? Where did he go?

To this day I’m still afraid of being outside late at night somewhere isolated in case I hear that whistling again.

This person has haunted me since I was a boy and I genuinely can’t explain it.

I recently left Vadodara after a long time and was feeling nostalgic about the city… until I remembered this one incident from a few years back and it genuinely scared the shit out of me again.

So here it goes.

I used to work at Parul University back then and I owned this absolute banger of a motorcycle—heavy CC, loud, beautiful machine. I’d ride it to work a couple times a week just for the feel of it.

I had this colleague who lived somewhere past Waghodia GIDC, like proper outskirts—almost a village setup. We were all in our early 20s so once a month we’d gather at his place, order biryani, sit around, chill, nothing crazy.

That night it was peak monsoon.

Now if you know that side of Vadodara—Waghodia side, past GIDC—you know how dead it gets at night. No street lights, broken roads, fields around, not a single soul once it gets late.

And I hate staying over at someone else’s place. Doesn’t matter how late it is, I leave.

So I said my goodbyes and stepped out.

Light drizzle.

I thought, manageable.

I start riding.

Within minutes—it turns into absolute madness. Not rain, like full-on sky tearing open. Water hitting your face so hard you can barely keep your eyes open. No helmet (yeah, I know, stupid), no visibility, pitch dark roads, potholes every few meters.

Still riding.

Slow, steady, trusting the machine. Heavy bike, good control. Hit a couple potholes but kept it upright. That’s when—

BAM.

High beam straight into my face.

Couldn’t see shit for a second.

As I got closer, I realized… it wasn’t moving.

A white SUV.

On its side.

In a ditch.

I immediately pulled over. Didn’t even think twice.

Ran towards it—pitch dark, couldn’t see anything. Went back, turned my bike on, angled the headlight towards the crash.

And then I saw him.

A man—late 40s, maybe early 50s—lying beside the car. He had somehow crawled out.

He was fucked up.

Head bleeding, nose bleeding, glass shards stuck in his head and arms, not responding to anything I was saying.

That moment hits different when you realize—it’s just you.

No traffic. No people. No help.

Just you and a dying man in the middle of nowhere in heavy rain.

I called an ambulance immediately. Told them everything.

They said they were on the way.

They weren’t.

I kept calling. Called my colleagues—no one picked up. Rain still pouring like crazy. I was in shock myself but trying to stay functional.

Ran back to my bike, grabbed the first aid kit.

Used my handkerchief to press against his forehead to slow the bleeding.

Then I saw his hand.

Deep cuts. Glass inside. Blood just gushing out non-stop.

I knew if that doesn’t stop, he’s gone.

Took off my belt and tied it around his arm—tight enough to slow the bleeding but the entire time I was panicking thinking “what if I fuck this up so bad they have to cut his arm off?”

But it worked.

Bleeding slowed.

Still no one around.

Just me, him, darkness, and rain hitting like bullets.

Finally—after what felt like forever—I see headlights.

Ambulance.

I helped them load him in.

And just as they were done and about to leave, my fat ass slipped in the mud and I went straight down—hands first—onto glass shards.

Cut my own hand open.

Perfect.

They offered me a ride.

I said no.

I’m not leaving my motorcycle there. Not a chance.

Now comes the part that pissed me off the most.

The bike wouldn’t start.

And this isn’t some small bike you casually kick once and go. Heavy CC machine. Kick starting it in the rain, in mud, after all that adrenaline crash? Absolute nightmare.

I kept trying. Slipping. Kicking. Swearing. Almost losing it.

Finally—it starts.

That engine sound? Never felt more relieving.

So I start riding back towards Vadodara.

And somewhere on the way—it hits me.

I’m in shock.

I look down—my white shirt and jeans are completely soaked in blood. Not just his—mine too now. Mud everywhere. Leaves stuck in my hair. My hand still bleeding. Rain still pouring.

I’m just… riding.

Empty roads.

No thoughts processing properly.

I pass Waghodia GIDC… then near Waghodia gaam I see this security guard sitting outside an ATM, half asleep.

I stop.

My throat was dry as hell, I needed water.

I walk up to him.

Now imagine what he sees.

A guy in white clothes. Covered in blood. Middle of the night. Walking towards him out of nowhere.

The guy literally falls off his chair, grabs his rifle, and points it straight at me.

We both start shouting.

I’m trying to explain but my brain just wouldn’t cooperate. Words weren’t forming. I kept saying random broken Gujarati like:

“maru khoon nathi bhai… kaka nu che… accident… accident…”

And the worst part?

I start laughing.

Like uncontrollable laughing.

Not because it was funny—just my brain completely short-circuiting.

For him, that probably confirmed I’m some psychopath.

Eventually he calmed down, realized I’m not there to kill him, gave me water.

Even let me use the washroom.

I washed myself—scrubbed blood off my hands, cleaned my face, tried to look somewhat normal again. My own cuts were stinging like crazy by then.

Sat there for a bit till my heart rate dropped.

And then I just said fuck it.

Got back on my bike.

And rode all the way back to Vadodara.

Like nothing happened.

And the most fucked up part?

Between all this, I didn’t even realize what was happening to me.

I was in the middle of a deserted road, in gushing rain, with a potential bloody corpse, no one around.

Traumatic?

Yeah.

Conclusion—

I’m a resilient human being.

And that realization still fucks with me.

Hey everyone, I’m 24M student from Gujarat and I’ll be staying in Goa for the next 6 months.

I’ve always felt drawn towards volunteer work—whether it’s feeding people in need, teaching underprivileged kids, helping stray animals, joining awareness drives, or just showing up wherever I can be useful. Over time, this has become something really close to my heart.

Life has had its share of setbacks, and doing this kind of work has been one of the few things that gives me real peace and purpose. It helps me feel grounded, and I genuinely want to continue being involved wherever possible.

I’m looking to connect with NGOs, local groups, or even individuals in Goa who are involved in similar activities. Whether it’s community service, child welfare, animal welfare, food drives, or anything meaningful where I can contribute—I’d love to be a part of it.

If anyone knows of organizations or people working in this space, please let me know. I’d really appreciate it. Thank you :)