Sometimes the most unsettling encounters are not the ones that leap at you in the dark, but those that arrive quietly—through a faint sound, an unexplained presence, or the feeling that a place remembers more than it reveals. The Disquiet Of Dow Hills And Other Hauntings by Nandini Raybaruah thrives on this subtlety. It does not rely on spectacle or gore; instead, it allows silence, memory, and atmosphere to carry the weight of its unease.

An unfamiliar room, a tiresome journey, you are half-asleep and suddenly hear a faint cry in the corridor outside, followed by a softer knock on your door: what would you do? Rise from the comfort of your warm quilts and woollens to check the source of the noise, or dismiss it as a mischievous trick of your drowsy mind?

And how would you react when, come morning, one—or perhaps two—of your companions admit they too heard the faint cry and the knock? Would you still dismiss it as your weary mind’s trickery, or shudder at the thought that you brushed against something from the unseen world beyond?

If you are a fan of horror stories—not the kind churned out by lousy Hindi films but something more subtle, more satisfying, something that lingers long after you’ve turned the last page—then The Disquiet Of Dow Hills And Other Hauntings is just the right book for you.

From Sandakphu to Wallong, Tezpur to Dibrugarh, and finally Kurseong, the five stories in this collection differ widely in setting and mood. Yet they share a common thread: a silence that suggests memory, presence, and something that lies just beyond the ordinary.

In The Disquiet Of Dow Hills And Other Hauntings, Raybaruah gathers five of her most intimate encounters from her journeys across Northeast and Eastern India. What unfolds is not a mere catalogue of ghost stories, but a kind of travelogue, where places themselves hold emotions, memories, and an atmosphere of unease that resists easy explanation.

The boundaries between what we see and what we sense blur, leaving behind experiences that cannot be dismissed lightly.

Each story feels like a spiritual sequel—or a prequel—to the last, and her lucid writing keeps the reader firmly gripped.

This is not horror designed to shock or terrify. Instead, it seeps in quietly, creeping into thought long after the page has been turned.

There are no white-clad spectres or orchestrated jump-scares. Yet in locked rooms faint voices echo. In the dark stillness, the cry of an infant pierces the night.

The chill comes not only from the mountain wind but from something far more intangible. These are not curated escapades into the paranormal, but raw, unfiltered moments where silence itself becomes a presence.

Raybaruah’s stories invite us to accept that the world we occupy may be shared with others we cannot fully grasp. Perhaps the only way to encounter them is not through fear or spectacle, but with respect, patience, and quiet curiosity.

The Disquiet of Dow Hills and Other Hauntings is less about chasing apparitions and more about noticing what lingers in the spaces we pass through.

If you are looking for a read that unsettles without overwhelming, and whispers rather than screams, then this book is worth picking up.

The Disquiet Of Dow Hills And Other Hauntings offers an eeriness that stays with you long after the last page, drawing you into a world of quiet horror that lingers in thought rather than in fright.

As a debut, the book reveals a writer already in full command of her craft. Raybaruah’s storytelling is assured, her flow natural, and her sensitivity to atmosphere striking. Few first works arrive with such confidence, and this one promises a writer whose voice will only grow stronger with time.

ALSO READ | Books: What To Read And What Not To...