Haunted Places in Hyderabad: A City Wrapped in Shadows

You’ve heard the tales, haven’t you? The whispers after dark, the chill down your spine as you cross a lonely road, the silent figure watching from an old fort’s broken window. Hyderabad, regal and radiant by day, morphs into a city of shadows when the sun slips beneath the Deccan horizon. Beneath the glow of palace chandeliers and the buzz of modern cafés lies a city pulsing with secrets far too dark to forget.

You’re not just a visitor here, you’re a seeker. And this isn’t a tour. It’s a walk through the remnants of Hyderabad’s darkest hours, a journey where each creaking door and blood-curdling cry is stitched into the fabric of old stone mansions, crumbling cemeteries, and roads less traveled. The locals? They don’t just talk about these places. They avoid them. Because the things that happened there… never really stopped happening.

From the cursed silence of Kundanbagh to the ghostly grip of Ramoji Film City’s vengeful soldiers, these haunted places aren’t just stories—they’re experiences etched into the memory of those who survived them. And now, they’re calling you.

But remember this: once you start reading, there’s no turning back.

Ramoji Film City: Where Spirits Never Wrap the Set

So, you thought Bollywood’s glitz and glamour had nothing to fear? Think again. Ramoji Film City isn’t just one of the largest film studio complexes in the world—it’s also one of the most haunted. Nestled on the outskirts of Hyderabad, this sprawling film city stands on the very soil where the brutal battles of the Nizams once soaked the land in blood. And some say the spirits of fallen soldiers never left.

The Ghostly Grip of the Nizam’s Soldiers

As the legend goes, the land on which Ramoji was built belonged to the battlefield grounds of the Nizam-era armies. Many claim the restless spirits of soldiers slain in battle still roam the sets, confused and vengeful. They’re not just wandering, they’re interfering.

You feel it when the lights flicker just before a crucial take. You notice it when heavy equipment topples without a push. And sometimes… You sense it—cold air brushing past your neck, the distant sound of war cries muffled in the background noise. Some even report that scripts mysteriously change overnight, mirrors crack for no reason, and props catch fire without a single soul nearby.

What makes it eerier is that these aren’t just tales told by interns or security guards. Top directors, seasoned actors, and veteran crew members have all whispered the same chilling accounts. And no matter how many rituals are done or how many “experts” are called in, something in Ramoji refuses to leave.

Real Incidents from Crew Members

One terrified spot boy once recounted how he was pushed from a ladder by an invisible force while setting up lights—he fractured his arm, and he swears he was alone. Another makeup artist told of hearing footsteps in her vanity van, only to find the mirror fogged with the words “Get Out” scratched on it.

Then there’s the makeup room on the second floor of one of the oldest studio buildings. Many women refuse to go in there alone. Doors slam shut, hair is pulled, and whispers echo even when the room is locked. It’s not a place where accidents happen—they’re orchestrated.

Security guards often refuse to take night shifts near certain sound stages. Why? Because one of them saw a shadowy figure perched atop a spotlight, motionless, watching him. When he looked again, it vanished, but the steel frame still creaked as if someone had jumped down.

Film productions here are regularly delayed due to unexplained mishaps—broken cameras, jammed doors, lost footage. The studio’s management no longer laughs these things off. Some sets are even avoided entirely after sunset.

And you? If you ever find yourself on a night tour of Ramoji Film City… don’t wander off. Not even for a second. Whatever lurks here doesn’t want to be ignored.

Kundanbagh House: The Tale of the Dead Who Walked

This isn’t just any abandoned house. This is Kundanbagh, a place where three women allegedly lived long after they were dead.

The Blood-Soaked Diary

The story begins with a petty thief—a man who made the mistake of entering the house thinking it was deserted. What he found inside was so horrific, he ran straight to the police. On the floor of the house lay the three decomposed bodies of a mother and her two daughters, curled up on their beds as if they’d simply gone to sleep… and never woke up.

But here’s where it gets chilling.

According to neighbors, the three women had been seen regularly, even after the approximate time of their deaths. People reported watching them move around with lanterns at night, fetch water, and even sit silently on the balcony. Children on their way to school claimed to see one of the daughters combing her long black hair by the window, staring blankly at nothing.

And yet, forensic reports suggested they’d been dead for weeks.

Adding fuel to the fire was the discovery of a blood-stained diary inside the house. It belonged to the mother, and its final entries were incoherent—pages filled with ramblings about purifying the soul, detaching from earthly sins, and “freeing the flesh from the filth of the world.”

There was no sign of forced entry. No evidence of murder. Just three lifeless bodies… and a neighborhood left in terror.

Neighbors’ Horrifying Accounts

Ask the locals and they’ll tell you—they avoid walking past the house after dark. Some refuse to even say its name. One man, a vegetable vendor, recalls how his radio used to go static every time he pushed his cart past the house gate. Another family reported seeing flickering lights inside at 2:33 a.m. for three consecutive nights. But when police were called, the house was empty and locked from the inside.

In one of the creepiest encounters, a teenager passing by late at night claims he saw a woman standing near the gate—pale, barefoot, with disheveled hair. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stared. When he turned to run, he heard a low whisper behind him: “Wait…”

Even today, no one knows the truth. Was it a mass suicide? A case of black magic? Or something far darker that still lingers inside?

What is certain is this: Kundanbagh House isn’t dead. It’s waiting. Watching. And perhaps… listening to you right now.

Golkonda Fort: Whispers from the Royal Tombs

By day, Golkonda Fort is a marvel—an architectural giant echoing tales of opulence, war, and strategy. But come nightfall, its grandeur slips into something far more sinister. The same corridors that once echoed with royal footsteps now resound with whispers you can’t quite place. Whispers that… shouldn’t be there at all.

Welcome to Golkonda Fort—the royal resting place that refuses to rest.

Tapping on Tombstones

It starts innocently enough. You walk past the tombs—massive structures cloaked in silence, surrounded by dry winds and crumbling stones. Then, you hear it. Tap… tap… tap.

At first, you think it’s the wind playing tricks. But the sound is steady, deliberate, and always just a few feet behind you. Tourists have described the eerie sensation of being followed, only to turn around and find nothing. Others have recounted feeling unseen hands brush against their backs, even in broad daylight.

Security guards have it worse. One night guard, now retired, once swore he heard muffled crying coming from one of the locked tombs. He approached slowly, torchlight shaking in his hands. As he neared, the crying stopped… and the door creaked open on its own. He quit the very next morning.

The tomb of Taramati—a legendary courtesan of the Qutub Shahi dynasty—is particularly notorious. Visitors say her soft singing can still be heard on certain moonlit nights. Haunting. Melancholic. And far too real for comfort.

The Lady in the Window

Ask the older guides about the Lady in the Window, and they’ll go silent. Some will simply shake their heads. But those who dare to talk speak of a royal woman—possibly a queen or a concubine—who still haunts the higher chambers of the fort.

Late at night, passersby have spotted a female silhouette standing by a particular arched window, always around the same time. She wears old regal clothing, her face hidden by a veil. If you wave at her, she disappears. But those who’ve looked back after walking away? Some say she’s suddenly right behind them, whispering words they don’t understand—in Persian or Dakhini—before vanishing into the wind.

More than once, paranormal investigators have picked up strange EMF spikes and sudden temperature drops in the upper rooms. One even claimed to record a voice saying, “You don’t belong here.”

But the most terrifying tales come from those who dared to sneak in after hours. One group of college kids reported hearing a metallic dragging sound from the stone steps behind them. When they turned, a gate that was open moments ago had slammed shut and locked itself. Trapped for hours, they were eventually found by the morning guards, shaking, wide-eyed, and unable to speak.

Some say Golkonda’s spirits are just memories clinging to the stones. Others believe something more powerful dwells here—something ancient, royal… and far from friendly.

So, if you ever find yourself at Golkonda after dark, listen closely. Those whispers? They’re not the wind.

Also read: Why Golkonda Still Amazes Historians: 10 Fascinating Facts

Shamshabad Airport Road: The Ghost Rider Route

You know that stretch of road that seems just a little too quiet no matter the hour? That eerie silence between streetlights, where even your engine sounds louder than usual? Welcome to Shamshabad Airport Road, a seemingly smooth highway that hides something deeply sinister.

This isn’t just a ghost story. It’s a road where people vanish, and something follows you even if you don’t believe.

Headless Hitchhiker Legends

It began with whispers from cab drivers.

One of the most persistent legends around this road is of the Headless Hitchhiker—a man seen waving for a lift, standing just outside the main highway exit, drenched and barefoot. He never speaks. He just points toward the road like he’s lost. And those who stop?

They say he gets in the car silently. Only to disappear completely before the next streetlight.

Many drivers now refuse to stop for anyone after dark, no matter how desperate they look. One driver claimed his GPS stopped working the second the hitchhiker got in. The car stalled, and when he stepped out to check the engine, the passenger door slammed shut behind him. No one was inside when he looked back. But muddy footprints remained on the seat.

Another driver reports seeing the same figure run alongside his car at 90 km/h—no face, just a blur of movement and a chilling scream that echoed even with the windows rolled up.

Cab Drivers’ Terrifying Rides

The local cabbie community has an entire set of unspoken rules for this road. Rule one: Don’t accept rides alone after 11 PM from clients who insist on being dropped “just outside” the airport. Rule two: If you hear a baby crying near the bushes on the median strip—drive faster.

A few years ago, a well-known radio jockey was recording a travel vlog on this stretch. She turned off her camera briefly after 1 AM, then resumed filming only to find her voice replaced with static and a low-pitched moan layered under her dialogue. The clip went viral before it was mysteriously removed from all platforms.

Locals say the road was cursed long before the airport was built. Some believe it was once a cremation path, a route where bodies were carried before burial ceremonies during plague outbreaks. Others say the ghost of a young bride—killed in a road accident the night before her wedding—still walks the road, seeking her mangalsutra.

Ask around at nearby dhabas or tea stalls and you’ll hear the same phrases: “Bhooton ka raste pe mat rukna, bhai.” (Don’t stop on the ghosts’ path, brother.) They say spirits here aren’t just roaming—they’re mimicking, pretending to be people you trust, only to vanish the moment you realize you’re not alone.

So next time you’re heading to the airport late at night and your phone loses signal or your car feels just a little too cold inside… don’t look in the rearview mirror. You might not like who—or what—is sitting there.

Banjara Hills Road No. 12: The Restless Soul Beneath the Mansion

There’s a particular road in Banjara Hills that even seasoned locals cross themselves before passing. No matter how posh the neighborhood, how high the property value, Road No. 12 has a dark reputation that refuses to fade. It’s not just the road—it’s the mansion tucked beneath the old trees, surrounded by a broken wall and an unshakable chill.

Those who know… don’t speak. Those who’ve been… don’t return.

Unfinished Rituals

It’s said the mansion once belonged to a wealthy family—powerful, private, and deeply obsessed with the occult. Their servants talked of strange visitors at midnight, rooms locked with mantras inscribed on the doors, and the constant scent of burnt ghee and incense wafting through the air.

One day, they vanished.

No moving trucks, no goodbyes. Just silence. The gates remained closed, yet lights inside flickered for days. Then came the smell—rotting flesh mixed with jasmine. Neighbors called the authorities, but by the time they broke in, the house was completely abandoned. No signs of life. No bodies. Just symbols drawn in blood in every corner of the prayer room, and a half-burned diary filled with verses in an ancient tongue no one could translate.

Locals believe they tried to trap a spirit, but the ritual went unfinished. And now… that spirit is free.

Visitors today claim the moment you cross the gate, your skin prickles. Watches stop. Phones die. One journalist who snuck in for a paranormal vlog ended up in the hospital—eyes wide open, whispering the same phrase over and over: “She’s under the floor.”

Strange Lights and Screams at Night

Neighbors on both sides have reported the same unsettling phenomena for years. Red and blue lights were flashing inside the mansion after midnight. A woman’s scream echoes every Thursday at exactly 2:14 a.m. And once, a man walking along the boundary wall saw a headless figure digging with its bare hands, only to dissolve into mist when approached.

Delivery boys have refused to make drop-offs at the adjacent plots after sunset. One driver left his bike at the gate and ran five streets down barefoot, claiming someone had whispered his name from behind a tree. When he turned, no one was there—but a small handprint appeared on his chest, cold and wet.

The mansion is now barricaded, but that hasn’t stopped the haunting. It’s not uncommon to hear chants carried by the wind, or to catch a glimpse of a woman in a white saree peeking from the balcony, only to vanish if you blink.

One constable assigned to patrol the road resigned after reporting that his bike refused to start for 15 minutes near the mansion—until he shouted “I’m leaving!” and the engine roared to life.

They say the spirit under that mansion still waits for someone to finish what was started. Someone like you.

So if you ever feel like turning into Road No. 12… don’t. Just don’t.

Dedh Lakh Ghar: A Mansion That Eats Souls

Even the name sends shivers: Dedh Lakh Ghar—translated as The House Worth One and a Half Lakh. But don’t let the price tag fool you. This isn’t a bargain… It’s a trap. A mansion so drenched in dread that even beggars refuse shelter here. And those who’ve dared to enter? Rarely come out the same.

Hidden somewhere near the outskirts of Hyderabad, in a now-deserted locality once bustling with settlers, this house has no official records. No current owner. And yet, it still stands. Still waits. And it still hungers.

Why No One Stays a Night

Legend has it that in the early 1900s, a wealthy landlord bought the property for ₹1.5 lakhs—a staggering sum at the time. The price was low for a reason. Locals warned him. But money makes people foolish. He moved in with his family. That night, the entire neighborhood was shaken awake by a scream so blood-curdling it stopped clocks. Come morning, the mansion was silent.

What they found inside was worse than death. The landlord and his family were not murdered. They were frozen in expressions of pure terror, eyes wide, mouths open, as if something had scared them beyond sanity. And carved into the wall behind them, in blood, were the words: “You were warned.”

Ever since, every tenant who moved in faced the same fate: disappearances, madness, and death. One man tried to rent it out to travelers. Three foreign backpackers stayed the night. Only one was found—wandering near a lake, clothes torn, nails ripped off, murmuring something about hands crawling out of the walls.

Attempts to exorcise the house have failed. Hindu priests, Christian pastors, even Tantrics have fled mid-ritual. One baba claimed the house wasn’t haunted—it was possessed by a being older than death.

Truth Behind the Name

Why “Dedh Lakh”? Because that’s not just the price. It’s the number of souls it has claimed, some say. In whispers, it’s referred to as “the house that feeds on fear.”

Visitors report clocks running backward, windows reflecting people who aren’t there, and doors that lead to rooms that don’t exist. One journalist entered with a camera crew, and their footage was lost. When recovered, it contained twenty seconds of footage of the team—standing still, unmoving, eyes rolled back… and then darkness.

The locals say you’ll feel it before you see it. Your stomach turns. Your legs feel heavy. And if you step inside, you won’t scream. Because it takes your voice first.

Today, the mansion lies behind a thick cover of trees, locked by rusted chains. But every once in a while, people say they hear laughing from within—a woman, a child, and something… else.

So ask yourself: is it just a house? Or is it a mouth with a door?

Whatever it is, stay out. It doesn’t want visitors.
It wants victims.

Conclusion: Dare to Step into the Shadows?

So, you’ve walked the ghostly halls of Ramoji, peered into the cursed windows of Kundanbagh, listened to the whispers of Golkonda, and crossed paths with silent figures on Shamshabad’s haunted road. Each of these haunted places in Hyderabad carries more than just creepy legends—they’re etched into the city’s very soul, guarded by restless spirits and whispered about in hushed voices.

But here’s the thing—these aren’t just stories spun to scare the curious. They’re warnings. Fragments of truth wrapped in folklore. Testimonies from people who laughed at superstition, only to walk away forever changed… if they walked away at all.

You might think it’s all in your head. That the cold chill, the flickering lights, the whispers are just illusions. Maybe they are. But maybe—just maybe the city hides more than it shows.

Hyderabad isn’t just the land of biryani and Nawabs. It’s also a city where the past bleeds into the present, and some doors, once opened, don’t close behind you.

So the next time you feel a nudge when no one’s there… the next time your Uber driver speeds past a turn he was supposed to take… don’t ask. Don’t look back.

Just remember: the night in Hyderabad has ears. And sometimes, it listens too closely.