Amulets

In a world where every soul carries a different truth, belief itself becomes a matter of perspective. Some believe in spirits, haunted lands, and the echoes of souls trapped in time. Others scoff at such tales, calling them superstition—a product of fear and folklore passed down like lullabies meant to keep children from wandering too far.

Arjun belonged firmly to the second group.

A rationalist by nature, he didn’t fear the dark—because he had never seen proof that there was anything lurking in it. His mind thrived on logic, evidence, and reality. Myths were, to him, just colorful lies told with conviction.

He was twenty-three, though people often mistook him for younger. Arjun had a lean, restless energy—the kind that comes from always being in motion. His skin held the warm tone of someone who spent more time outdoors than in, and his black hair had that unkempt, windblown look that comes from never staying in one place for long.

He dressed without effort or concern—worn jeans, neutral shirts, and a field jacket with too many pockets. A canvas bag always hung at his side—stuffed with notebooks, wires, and half-broken gadgets he refused to throw away. But what stood out most were his eyes—dark, sharp, and always scanning, like he was searching for something just out of reach. He didn’t smile often, and when he did, it usually meant he was onto something. People who met him once often forgot his name... but remembered the way he looked at the world.

His curiosity ran deeper than fascination—it was an unyielding force, a need to unravel what others ignored. Arjun didn’t just stumble upon mysteries; he hunted them, lived with their questions, and let them occupy his thoughts long after others had turned away.

Based in Delhi, Arjun had built a life out of challenging belief. While others found comfort in routine, Arjun discovered his peace in the unknown, in motion—chasing questions that had no easy answers.

Every month, he packed a small backpack, took his camera, notebook, and voice recorder, and vanished from the city to explore villages whispered about in hushed tones—places with stories people didn’t like to repeat after sundown.

He wasn’t chasing ghosts.

He was after thetruthhidden beneath the fear—the reality that fear had somehow managed to veil.

A month ago, during one such trip to a mist-laced mountain village in Himachal Pradesh, Arjun found himself climbing a forgotten trail, half-eaten by roots and time.

Locals had warned him—

“Walk it, and you’ll leave more behind than footprints.”

But their warnings only fueled his determination.

The forest was still. The air, thick with silence. Only the soft crunch of dry leaves beneath his boots broke the spell. Towering trees, gnarled and ancient, leaned inward like sentinels, drawn by some unseen force.

And then—he saw it.

A faint glimmer. Subtle, but undeniable. Sunlight catching on metal, buried beneath an old stone.

He knelt and brushed the dirt away.

What he found was adelicate necklace, the chain thin but strong, tightly wrapped around anornate key—aged, yet intact. It wasn’t rusty like an antique, nor polished like something modern. Its carvings spiraled, foreign and hypnotic. It looked handmade—but not by any hands from this time.

He held it up. The key swung gently in the breeze, casting a twisted shadow on the forest floor. A chill ran down his spine.

The metal was warm.Too warm.

That night, back at the homestay, he dreamt—vividly, uncomfortably—for the first time in years.

Avillage.

Cracked mud paths stretching into endless fog.Empty homes with broken windows that seemed to watch.Doors swaying in the wind, half-open, like they were waiting.

And then—footsteps. Behind him.

He turned.

Nothing.

A door slammed shut in the distance—and he woke, heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

“Just a dream,” he whispered, though even he didn’t believe it.

But the dream returned.

The next night, and the night after. The same village. The same suffocating silence. The same scream at the end.

Each time, the village grew clearer. Each time, he got a little closer.

And always... that feeling.

Of being watched.

Of beingcalled.