Solo traveling teaches you a lot — about courage, independence, and trusting your instincts. But sometimes, it teaches you that not every place welcomes you. Sometimes, the road leads somewhere it shouldn’t. This is the story of the most unsettling night of my life — a solo traveler’s nightmare hidden deep in the hills of northern India.
The Village with No Name
I was on a backpacking trip through Himachal Pradesh, India, chasing lesser-known trails and quaint mountain villages. Locals had told me about a secluded place, “less touristy,” where time seemed to have stood still. The idea was too tempting to resist.
After three hours of walking from the nearest road and crossing two wooden bridges, I reached the village just before dusk. Only a handful of houses stood there — old, silent, surrounded by dense pine forests. No shops. No cell signal.
The villagers were kind but distant. They offered me a room in a guesthouse made of stone and wood, probably older than any building I had ever stayed in. It was cold. It was dark. And it was quiet — too quiet.
The Strange Room
My room was at the far end of the guesthouse. The wooden floor creaked under every step. The single bulb flickered constantly. And the door had no lock — just a heavy latch.
I remember laying down that night, wrapped in two blankets, listening to the wind howl outside. That’s when I heard it — a soft knock at the door. I froze.
There was no one else staying at the guesthouse. I hadn’t told anyone I was coming.
The knock came again. Then silence. Then footsteps — soft, slow, like someone walking barefoot just outside my door.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Minutes passed. Then hours. I must’ve dozed off eventually, because the next thing I remember is waking up to the sound of my door slowly creaking open.
The Figure in the Hall
I jumped out of bed and grabbed my flashlight. The door was open, swaying slightly. My heart was pounding.
I walked into the hallway. That’s when I saw it — a figure standing at the end, near the stairs. Pale. Thin. Unmoving.
I pointed the light — and it vanished.
I ran back to my room, slammed the door, and pushed the bed against it. I stayed awake till the first light of morning touched the frosty window.
Leaving Without Looking Back
As soon as the sun rose, I packed up and left without breakfast. The guesthouse owner asked if I slept well. I just nodded and walked away.
Halfway back down the trail, I met an old man collecting firewood. When I told him where I had stayed, his face went pale.
“That guesthouse?” he said. “It’s been empty for years. The owner’s family left after their daughter died in that back room. You must have stayed in hers.”
The Aftermath
To this day, I don’t know what I saw. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe fear played tricks on my mind. But I’ve never felt that kind of dread before — or since.
Solo traveling is filled with beauty and magic. But sometimes, it also introduces you to things that defy logic. Places that are forgotten for a reason.
Would I travel solo again? Absolutely. But now, I always trust my gut — and never stay where even the locals seem hesitant to visit.