Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Never summon the headless women of Kasara Ghat

Episode Date: December 15, 2021

This story was written by Bikram Mann. You can check out his new book on Amazon here: Unclean Spirits 🎧 Check out my new True Crime podcast here called Crimehub: https://spoti.fi/3nIcpKY 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard Via Raille. Embarked and profite. Embarked and relaxes. Cirotay. Bookine. Oh, that also. And profite.

Via Rae. The voice that we love that we love. Talk to nicely. Before we start this story, I'd like to thank my newest supporters, Cicely, Frosky, and Zander. If you'd like to listen to the show ad free and receive bonus episodes,

consider signing up on Patreon. It is only $5 a month. and you can cancel any time. The link is in the description below. Now let's get to the story. I was sleeping when she died, drooling and drifting from one hazy dream to another, blissfully unaware of the struggles that were her last breaths. I wouldn't have done it if not for what happened to her, for what I did to her. Was it redemption that I was seeking? Deliverance, perhaps? Or maybe just a good night's sleep? I don't know. I guess I'll never know. My father always used to say that you can never really be a good judge of your

own intentions, so you should just stop trying. I didn't go looking for it. It came to me by pure chance while I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, rolling an empty bottle of whiskey under my foot. My sweat stale with the stench of its contents. I paused to flex my aching thumb, and there it was. The text, practically screaming at me. The headlonged, woman of Casaragat, the nightmare that makes your dreams come true. It was the turn of phrase that caught my attention, just something about that contrasting imagery of dreams and nightmares, of rainbows melting into roiling black skies that resonated with me so suddenly and so deeply that I found myself repeatedly thumbing my phone screen before I even realized what I was

doing. The link took me to a garbage ad-riddled website, the kind that had had. has white text slathered on a black background and two pop-up ads ready to slap your screen if you dare let your thumb slip. Yet my curiosity made me soldier on. My eyes flew over the text, my heartbeat growing faster and faster the deeper I got into the article. Have you ever lost someone you loved? Wish you could talk to them one last time? Look no further. The headless woman of Casaragat is here to take care of your deepest desires. Kassah Ghat, situated on the Mumbai Nashik Highway, is said to be one of the most haunted stretches of road in India today.

It is infamous for having been the site of innumerable fatal accidents over the years, and for being used as a dumping ground for multiple murder victims. Needless to say, a lot of restless souls haunt Kassaragat. And chief amongst them, the one that makes the Gat one of the most dangerous places to visit is the headless woman. Countless travelers have fallen victim to this terrifying woman who stalks this winding hilly road, using the cover of darkness to lure in her prey. Only when she enters the vehicle, do the Good Samaritans realize just what kind of monster they have invited into their abruptly shortened lives. But wait, it's not all hopeless, for before the woman

rips her benefactors to shreds, she lets them speak to their dead loved ones one last time. And how does she do that, you ask? By taking on the appearance of the deceased, of course. That's right. The headless woman grows ahead, one with the appearance, memories, and personality of her praise loved one. So at least those poor souls get to have a moment of catharsis before their lives are ended in the most brutal manner.

I had to stop reading at that point. The cocktail of sweat and tears swirling in my eyes had made the text too blurry to read. Something had caught my heart in a vice-like grip. What was it, though? Fear? Adrenaline? Ope? What the hell was I doing?

Had I really gotten so desperate that I was willing to put my faith in some shitty urban legend? The answer bloomed in my mind before the question could even fully take shape. I forced some spit up my throat to wet my parched mouth and rubbed my eyes raw before continuing reading. You might be wondering, What's the point of talking about the headless woman if all that awaits you after an encounter with her is certain death?

After all, there are numerous other monsters out there who would gladly rob you of your life. So what makes this one so special? Well, the thing that makes the headless woman so special is that there is a way to survive a meeting with her, to have a heart-to-heart chat with your deceased loved ones without later joining them in the afterlife. A foolproof method that guarantees your survival while getting you what you want. It took a lot of trials, a lot of failures and sacrifices to discover this method. So rest assured, it works. But be warned, there is no room for error here.

Even the slightest deviation from the steps as they are laid down here will cause your chances of survival to drop right down to zero. The headless woman is a vicious and cunning creature. She doesn't like being played with, and will meet out the most excruciating punishment imaginable if given even the slightest room to maneuver. So read the steps carefully, then read them again and again and again and again until they've been chiseled into your memory. And then read them again. Now that you've read and internalized the warnings, you can move on and actually read the steps that you need to follow

to safely meet the headless woman of Gasseragot. Use a car, not a bike. I repeat, do not use a bike, for it will get you killed very quickly. Travel after midnight, 12.30 a.m. to 1.45 a.m. is the sweet spot. Keep a bottle of chilled Cokeam juice with you and a clean glass. Make sure your doors are unlocked and your windows roll down, even if it is raining. Turn on your radio. If your car doesn't have one, get one. Switch to the AM band.

You must NOT tune into any station, just static, pure white noise. Use your turn signal, the one opposite cliffside, so it looks like you're preparing to plunge into the valley. Keep it switched on. Every 500 meters, slow down, but do not stop. And press down on your horn for a good five seconds before speeding off. Use the odometer of your car or a distance measuring app on your phone. Be as precise as possible. Keep doing this until you see the headless woman.

However, do not pick her up. It's not the right time to do so. Drive past her. About a kilometer away, you should see her again. This is when you stop and pick her up. Remember, this is about her appearing on the road, not you spotting her. If you miss seeing her the first time and drive past her the second time, you will die. Don't worry, though.

You have the radio to warn you. When it starts going crazy, You'll know she's close, and you'll know to be ready and to keep your eyes peeled. Again, stop when you see her the second time. Do not move from your seat. Wait for her to get in. Do not stare at her. It would be wise to turn your rear view mirror away, but not necessary.

She's not shy. Sooner or later, she'll make you look at her. Pour out the kokum juice in the glass and offer it to her. Once she takes it from you, start driving. And that's it. There are no more rules or instructions because each encounter from this point onwards is different. Survival now only depends on your luck and ingenuity. And the headless woman's mood.

Best of luck. I hope you find what you seek. Any other day I would have laughed at myself or even thinking that any of this could be real, let alone contemplating actually going through with this. But it wasn't any other day. I wasn't the rational and psychologically stable individual. I had been all my life. No. I was so fundamentally broken that I was willing to do whatever it took to get one last chance to speak to her, to beg for her forgiveness, to tell her I loved her,

to ask her if she hated me. Most of my liquor-induced numbness had drained through my sweat glands by this point. I pushed myself up out of my chair and went and grabbed a pad and a pen from my study, where I quickly jotted down the rules before making a list of everything that I would have to do to make this trip happen. It took about three weeks before I was ready to go to Kisaragat. I was living in Puna at the time, which was about five hours away from my destination, pretty much necessitating a short leave from work, which was understandably, though a bit surprisingly easy to get. I left my house at 5 p.m. on a grim Saturday evening. Tar black clouds had been growing in the all throughout the day, and they started spitting the second I rolled out of our apartment

buildings underground parking. The drizzle turned into a deluge by the time I left the city, pounding the car with impenetrable sheets of water. I had never seen a rain as relentless and vicious as that, not since the floods of 2005. I thanked the stars that I was able to make it out of the city before the skies truly opened up their black bellies. Getting stuck in storm induced traffic would have put a quick end to my plans and driven me deeper into those familiar quicksands of depression. Sitting all alone in that car, surrounded by the din of traffic, would have reminded me of all those times I spent with her, singing old Kashore Kumar songs and giggling its shitty WhatsApp forwards, while cars and buses crawled along at a snail's pace

beside us. It's funny how the little things hit you when you least expect them to, Our memories that seem insignificant at the time of their creation become priceless when the person you made them with is gone. Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could gain the bid for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Incribe you at BMO.com bar-obligic concourse.

The reglements of the concourse is applicable. and pressed my foot down on the accelerator. Black wiper blades trembled across the windshield as the car plowed through translucent walls of water. Time ticked by. Noddy concrete jungles gave way to sprawling waterlogged rice fields. The sun, hidden behind a raging gray-black veil, slowly slid beneath the hills far up ahead.

The rain began petering out, turning from an endless wash to a heavy drizzle that peppered my roof. Soon I found myself navigating the narrow roads, webbing the hills that rose up out of the ground like mossy stone teeth, reaching up into the dark sky as if wanting to devour it. Darkness fell upon the land. I switched my headlights on. Grains of water shivered in the bright beams that splashed on the wet asphalt as I drew closer and closer to my destination. I stopped a good couple of kilometers away from the stretch of road that was marked

as Casara got on Google Maps. I pulled off the road when I found the space to do so, and ate the light dinner that I had brought with me. I took my time with my meal, but there was still over an hour left until midnight. An hour that I spent asking myself what the fuck I was doing out there. How foolish could I be? Nothing would come from chasing ghosts like this, right? But if it did, I tried to take a nap. I pushed my seat down, threw my head back, and squeezed my eyes shut. It didn't work, of course. How could it? With my heart hammering my chest like it wanted to shatter my ribcage, I sat back up, shook my head, and began counting the seconds to midnight. An excruciating activity,

true, but it was somehow still less painful than letting my mind wander over to the past. 12.28 a.m. I turned the ignition key. The car purred to life. Slice through mud and wet grass as it climbed onto the road. The last stretch of the journey began. My face erupted in sweat. Just a little more, and I would have answers. One or another, hopefully. The blue line on the Google Maps app grew shorter and shorter. I rolled all my windows down, felt my skin. prickle with goose flesh as rain lashed my arm. The blue line continued to grow shorter. It was smaller than my thumb now. I switched on the radio. A crackle of static filled the car. The blue line had almost disappeared by this point. I stole a glance at the view outside my window and saw old teak and

neem trees brooding over the road before falling away below, into a valley consumed in shadows. I turned the right signal on. The blue line vanished. A monotone voice blared from my phone, informing me that I had arrived at my destination. I slowed the car down, took a deep breath, and pressed down on the horn with my trembling hand. The noise tore through the radio static and the drumming of the rain on the roof. Here we go. I sped up again after taking a peek at the odometer. How long would it take for her to appear, I wondered as I leaned forward and frowned in concentration. The rain and the darkness had brought visibility down to almost nothing. Fear tightened my chest. Would I even be able to see her in this weather? The odometer ticked five times as I wove my way through the winding road.

I slowed down and blew the horn before picking up speed again. Still hadn't seen her. How long would I have to do this before I would, though? Or had I already driven past her? Was she in the car then, ready to tear my throat out for failing the process? My eyes shot over to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, I had turned it away from the back seat. Another 500 meters had me slowing down to blow the horn again. Then another 500 meters. Then another, and another. My nerves were a tangled, fraying mess of wires, sagging on a rusted pole. Just seconds away from. total disaster. Five hundred more meters passed by. I prepared to slow the car down, and that's when it happened. The wash of radio-static exploded into a high-pitched wine, the noise of a gigantic

whistling tea kettle. I gritted my teeth as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. It felt like my ears were a chalkboard that someone was scratching with a dozen nails. Yet I didn't tear my attention away from the road. I thanked the stars that I didn't. for that's when I spotted her. She was standing on the side of the road, wearing a blue-black, petni-sari. A bolt of fear jolted my spine.

She didn't have a head. Dear God, she didn't have a head. A flood of shivers wrecked my body. How? How was this possible? How could this be real? Couldn't be real. Because if she was real, then...

No. I scolded myself. Do not get distracted. Focus on the task. And as I tried to do just that, A fresh fear gripped my heart. What was I supposed to do now? Fuck!

Do I continue slowing down every 500 meters like I had been doing up until now? Or do I just keep on driving until I see her again? What did the rule say about that? I wanted to pull out the pad and check for myself, but I couldn't afford to do so. I couldn't pull my eyes off the road. I couldn't dare slow down. I couldn't afford to let the 500 meters slip by. 500 meters.

Panic threatened to send me spiraling as I looked at the odometer. I had forgotten to keep a track of the distance. How much distance had I covered since the last time I blew the horn? I wanted to slow down to get my bearings back, but I was terrified. Would doing so ruin the process? Was I only allowed to slow down while blowing the horn? That's it. It was going to die.

And just when I felt like I was doomed, it clicked in my brain. The numbers came flooding back. 500 meters. I was on the mark. I immediately pressed the brakes and slowed the car down. I blew the horn, shifted gears, and picked up speed again. I was safe. For now. The road took me over a stone bridge and towards another thickly forested hill. I was wide awake. I kept sneaking glances at the odometer while scanning the sides of the road for the headless woman. 500 meters went by. I slowed the car again and blew the horn. And just when my foot touched the accelerator, the radio static turned into a keening cry once again,

making my heart almost leap out of my mouth. There she was, standing under what looked to be a mango tree. I would have swallowed some spit if I had any left in my mouth. I pulled the car onto the side of the road and brought it to a halt close to her. What next? Should I open the door for her? Or would she do it herself? I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, as I didn't have the car.

courage to turn my neck. I couldn't see anything above her chest from that angle. She was standing too close to the car. For a tense couple of seconds, nothing happened. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Had I missed a step? Why wasn't anything happening? Then she moved. I heard the back door open and felt a rush of cold wind and rain on the back of my neck. I heard the jingling of glass bangles and the sound of a leather seat shifting under someone's weight. Then the door swung shut. I turned the ignition key. Fuck.

The juice. The juice! I reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the glass in the bottle. With hands akin to that of a Parkinson's patient, I poured out the kokum juice and awkwardly tried to hand it to her without turning my back. Here, I croaked. Please, have some. Her hand caressed mine.

It was calloused. and cold as ice. It made a shudder run through me all over again. As she took the glass from me, I started the car and began driving. My head was a storm of questions. What now? How do I get her to let me talk to my dead wife? Should I wait for her to speak? Or should I broach the topic myself? It wasn't words that started at all. No, it was noise that did it. Gut-churning sounds issued from the back seat, of crunching bones and water spurting out of a plastic pipe that has its mouth squeezed tight between two fingers.

I cranked my neck, just an inch, and gaited at what was happening back there. Just as I had thought, the woman was growing ahead. Blood spurted out of her neck, which was now the sight of the birth of a new skull. Bones and ropes of wet flesh shot out of the hole between her shoulders and started melding into one another. forming a sinewy outline of a human head. I whipped my head back around and focused on the road,

trying not to pay attention to the sounds emanating from the back as they were threatening to make me empty my stomach's contents. The noise seemed to continue for hours, though I'm sure it mustn't have taken nearly that long. Finally, it came to an end. Anticipation tried desperately to sweep aside the fear in my belly. I cleared my throat. Rajiv?

I sucked in a shallow breath. There, that voice. Oh, how I had longed to hear it again. How I had hated the fact that I never would. Feared that I would soon forget what it sounded like in person. Ina, I whispered. Tears gushed freely down my face. Is that really you?

Yes, who else could it be? I could hear the pain, the happiness, even a touch of fear in her voice. It was her. It was really her. My heart sang. God, I've missed you, I said so much. Me too, she replied. I love you. I love you too, I answered.

Then broke into deep-chested sobs. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Shh. It's okay, she said. I shook my head. No, it's not. It's not okay. I shouldn't have listened to you, believed you. If I had, things wouldn't have turned to me.

out this way. It's okay, Rajiv. She said once again. Please don't cry. How can I not? I failed you. I am of failure. As a husband, as a man.

Rajiv, look at me. I wiped the tears off my face. Please look at me, Rajiv. I slowed the car down. I put my arm around the back of the passenger seat and turned around. Seeing that she was shrouded in shadows, I flipped the car's dome light on, blasting the interior with a dull golden glow.

My breath trembled at what I saw. She looked so beautiful, gently curved lips. A hooked nose studded with a small silver ring, long flowing hair that brushed her shoulders. It took everything I had to not stop the car and jump into the backseat to take her into my arms. I didn't even care for the blood that soaked her sari. But then she started speaking.

Please don't cry, Rajiv. Her soft voice issued from between her lips. There's no use in crying because I'm already dead. My spine tingled. I felt like a hundred spiders were crawling down my back. The way she spoke was so unnatural. Her mouth moved in a lifeless, mechanical manner, like it was being worked by a ventriloquist

while her vacant, unblinking eyes seemed to be gazing into something far, far away. I felt a sob hit my chest. This was wrong. This was not what I wanted. I wanted to speak to my wife, not some monster. I tried to tear my eyes away from this thing, but found to my horror that I couldn't. Something was forcing me to look at her.

Every single muscle in my body tightened up. I was completely frozen, except for my right hand which moved the steering wheel without my consent. Yes, Rajiv, I'm dead. The way her honey sweet voice contrasted with her terrifying visage drove me to the brink of madness. You came here because you wanted to know whether I was really being hunted by a monster

like I told you, didn't you? Well, I was. I tried to shrink away in fear, but the unbelievable force locking me in place only grew stronger, more painful. My arms and legs and neck and shoulders burned like they were being crushed by tight bands of iron. I felt a burst of pain in my right leg

as it was forced to press down on the accelerator. You didn't believe me, did you? You saw me lose weight, saw the light go out of my eyes, and yet you didn't believe me. You saw those claw marks on my back, and you thought I had done it to myself, thought that I was losing my mind. Tears of blood ran down her eyes,

eyes that had yet to blink once. Her lips quivered for an impossibly long time. The car continued to pick up speed. You locked me up in a hospital, Rajiv, for my own good. yes. You swore that you would stay with me no matter what. But when I needed you the most, when that thing came for me, you weren't even there. I died alone and afraid, Rajiv. A scream tried to rip from my throat, but my body didn't allow it. The torrent of wind that slapped my neck reminded me just how dangerously fast the car was going. Is that fair,

Rajiv? It isn't, right? Don't you think you should make up for it? Please. I tried to say, but what came out was just a pathetic whistled breath. You know that there's only one way you can make up for it, don't you? Tears flowed unabated down my cheeks. Yes, only one way. You must die. My heart sank into my belly, as I felt my arm give a single sharp tug to the steering wheel. I heard the car's tire screech and burn on the asphalt as it bumped off the road, then felt the sudden weightlessness as it leapt into the valley.

That's when I finally regained full control. over my body for the final time. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital battered, broken, and paralyzed. Lazzangue sur-goled, puissance-molyne, we're going to be there dojo. Prere to play the pleasure with Leo Jo.

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