I was running.

  There was no floor beneath my feet, only a crushing mass of ink-black nothingness that felt like it was composed of every regret I’d ever buried. My father’s medical bills, my sister’s unfulfilled dreams, the hollow feeling in my stomach every time I looked at a price tag—they were all there, chasing me.

  Then came the screaming.

  It wasn't a human sound; it was a vibrating echo that rattled my teeth. I heard my father’s rasp, then a sob that could only belong to my sister. Finally, cutting through the void like a jagged blade, came Rekha’s voice. She was screaming my name, not in anger, but in a frantic, terrifying desperation.

  Ring! Ring!

  I jolted upright. My fingers were clawed into my sweaty bedsheets, my knuckles white. The room was silent except for the aggressive, rhythmic buzz of my phone on the nightstand.

  Another nightmare. The same void, the same screams. I wiped a hand over my face, my skin cold despite the morning heat. I wondered if I was actually going crazy—or if the guilt of leaving my family behind for a "writing trip" was finally starting to manifest as a sickness. I needed a therapist, but the thought of the bill made the nightmare seem preferable.

  I grabbed the phone. One look at the caller ID and my heart did a different kind of somersault.

  Rekha.

  The fog cleared instantly. Today was the day. The flight to Jaisalmer. The "investigation." And here I was, still drowning in sweat and bad dreams.

  I scrambled into the bathroom. The mirror showed a version of myself I barely recognized—my raven-black hair was a chaotic mess, and my eyes looked like two burnt-out coals set into a face that looked five years older than twenty-three. I didn't have time to mourn my reflection.

  I grabbed my battered rucksack and sprinted.

  Kolkata was already awake. I squeezed onto a bus that smelled of diesel and damp umbrellas, my heart hammering against my ribs every time we hit a red light. I was so late I didn't even wait for the conductor to give me my change—a move my empty wallet screamed at me for—and leaped out before the bus had even fully stopped at the terminal.

  I ran until my lungs burned. Then, near the boarding gate, I saw them.

  Gaurav and Lila were waving frantically, looking like tourists in a commercial. Nitish stood beside them, looking like a man whose time was worth more than the air he breathed, his gold-rimmed spectacles glinting under the terminal lights.

  But it was Rekha who held my gaze. She stood with her arms crossed, her face a mask of disapproval. But beneath the anger, I saw it—the jagged worry in those stormy gray eyes. Even when she wanted to kill me, she looked beautiful in a way that made me feel like the luckiest, most pathetic man in the world.

  "I guess any form of conversation can wait until we’re at 30,000 feet," Nitish snapped, checking his watch with a theatrical flourish. "Move. Now."

  The cabin of the plane was a world of hushed, filtered air and expensive leather. Nitish hadn't just booked tickets; he’d booked Business Class. As I sank into the plush seat, feeling like a thief in a palace, Rekha sat beside me. She didn't wait for the engines to start.

  "Where were you, Vikash?" she whispered. Her voice wasn't sharp—it was trembling. "I called you ten times. Was it... was it the sleep paralysis again?"

  She knew too much. She’d seen me frozen in those waking nightmares before. She’d offered to pay for a specialist, to "babysit" my health, and every time she offered, I felt a piece of my dignity chip away.

  "Just traffic, Rekha," I lied, staring at the tray table. "I stayed up late finishing a draft. I’m just tired."

  She looked at me for a long beat. She didn't buy the lie—she never did—but she let me keep it. I loved her for that, even if it felt like I was hiding behind her kindness.

  The flight was a blur of Gaurav and Lila’s constant bickering.

  "You were totally staring at that air hostess," Lila accused, poking Gaurav’s arm.

  "I was looking at the safety manual!" Gaurav protested, eyes wide. "Tell her, Nitish! You were looking too!"

  Nitish, mid-sip of a premium Earl Grey tea, choked violently. "I most certainly was not! I was reviewing the hotel itinerary!"

  "See?" Lila smirked, crossing her arms. "Nitish is a nerd, but at least he's an honest nerd. You just admitted you were doing it!"

  I laughed with them, but my mind was elsewhere. I was looking out the window, watching the green of the plains turn into the harsh, scorched yellow of the Thar Desert.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  When we landed, Jaisalmer didn't greet us with skyscrapers. It greeted us with history. The "Golden City" was a maze of ancient sandstone, honey-colored buildings that looked like they had grown straight out of the earth. The sunset had turned the sky into a bruised purple, casting long, eerie shadows across the desert floor.

  Nitish, falling into his "expert" mode, started lecturing us on the architecture of the fort, but Rekha cut him off with a single look.

  "Tell us where the car is, Nitish. I'm melting."

  Nitish fumbled with his phone, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "So... I thought we should have some freedom. No driver. Just us. I got us a Mercedes SUV."

  He led us to the parking lot. The car was beautiful—a sleek, black beast that looked like it belonged on the streets of Mumbai, not the rugged tracks of Rajasthan.

  "Nitish," Lila said, her voice dropping an octave. "This is a low-clearance luxury car. We’re going into the desert. What if we hit a sand-drift?"

  "It’s an SUV, Lila! It has 'Sports' in the name!" Nitish giggled, tossing the keys to Gaurav. "Besides, it’s a Mercedes. It’s smarter than we are."

  An hour later, the "freedom" felt like a mistake. The paved roads had vanished, replaced by a narrow, dusty trail that Google Maps seemed to have forgotten existed. We pulled over when we saw a figure by the roadside—an old man wrapped in a heavy, charcoal-colored cloak.

  Nitish rolled down the window. "Excuse me? Shortcut to the Kuldhara outskirts?"

  The man didn't look up at first. He was busy sorting through a small pile of rusty, ancient-looking keys in his lap. When he finally lifted his head, his skin was the color of parched earth, mapped with a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his chin. His eyes were milky, almost translucent.

  He pointed a gnarled finger toward a dark, unlit path to the left. Then, he let out a dry, hacking laugh that sounded like stones rubbing together.

  "Go that way," he wheezed. "You’ll reach your destination... much sooner that way. They’ve been waiting for a new set of keys."

  "Creepy," Lila whispered, frantically rolling up her window. "Nitish, he's insane. Do not listen to him."

  But Nitish was already shifting gears. "He’s just a local eccentric, Lila. Look, the GPS signal is coming back. It says the path is a valid route."

  An argument exploded in the car—Rekha shouting at Nitish’s arrogance, Gaurav trying to mediate, Lila clutching the door handle like it was a lifebuoy.

  In the chaos of the shouting and the dust kicked up by the tires, none of them noticed what I saw.

  As the Mercedes’ powerful headlights swept across the desert floor, they illuminated a weathered wooden signboard half-buried in a dune. The wood was splintered, and the red paint was the color of dried blood, but the message was clear:

  DANGER: PROCEED NO FURTHER.

  My breath hitched. I opened my mouth to shout, to tell Gaurav to slam on the brakes—but then I saw it.

  Behind the sign, something moved.

  It wasn't a person. It was a shadow, darker than the desert night, slithering through the twisted, thorny shrubs like a liquid nightmare. It didn't have a shape, just a presence—a cold, intentional movement that seemed to track the car as we roared past.

  I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes until I saw stars. I looked back, my neck straining, but the Mercedes was already fifty yards away. The sign and the shadow were swallowed by the swirling dust and the absolute blackness of the dunes.

  Was it there? Or was the "void" from my dream finally leaking into the real world?

  I looked at Rekha. She was still arguing with Nitish, her face tense with frustration. If I told her now—if I told her I saw a "slithering shadow"—she wouldn't just be worried. She’d be done. She’d see me as the broken boy who couldn't tell reality from a nightmare. She’d realize she was babysitting a madman.

  I couldn't lose that look in her eyes. Not yet.

  So, I gripped the leather armrest until my knuckles ached and swallowed the scream.

  We drove into the heart of the silence, leaving the warning behind. The luxury of the Mercedes felt cold now, the engine’s hum sounding less like a machine and more like a growl. We weren't just heading into the desert anymore.

  We were heading into the mouth of whatever was waiting for us.