An anthology of weird short stories

The legend of the Naga temple

Maya, a research scholar specializing in ancient Indian folklore, felt a shiver crawl up her spine as she peered into the dusty, forgotten archive. The air hung heavy with the weight of forgotten stories and the musty scent of decaying paper. Her quest for the elusive "Naga Mandir," a legendary serpent temple rumored to exist deep within the unforgiving Rajasthan desert, had led her here.

The sole librarian, a wizened old man with eyes like faded embers, watched her with an unsettling intensity. "You seek the temple of serpents, child?" his voice rasped, like dry leaves rustling in the wind. Maya nodded, her own voice barely a whisper.

"Many have searched," he continued, his words slow and deliberate. "Few have returned. The Nagas do not take kindly to trespassers."

A shiver ran down Maya's spine, but her years of research fueled a relentless curiosity. She dismissed his warnings as mere superstition, a common thread woven into local folklore across India. Ignoring his unsettling gaze, she delved into the ancient texts, their pages brittle and yellowed with age.

The descriptions were cryptic - a hidden oasis guarded by celestial serpents, a temple carved from black stone, and whispers of an ancient entity slumbering within. The lure of the unknown proved stronger than any fear. Armed with a faded map and a knapsack full of supplies, Maya set off into the unforgiving desert landscape.

The journey was arduous. The relentless sun beat down mercilessly, and the sand stretched out endlessly, a shimmering sea of gold. Days bled into one another, punctuated only by the howling wind and the occasional sighting of a lone vulture circling overhead. Just as doubt began to gnaw at her resolve, a shimmering mirage materialized on the horizon.

As she approached, the mirage solidified into a verdant oasis, a haven of life amidst the desolate landscape. Lush palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze, and a meandering stream flowed through vibrant flower beds. In the center stood a structure unlike anything she had ever seen.

The temple, carved from obsidian black stone, shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence. Coiled serpents, their scales carved with intricate patterns, adorned the walls, their frozen forms radiating an unsettling sense of power. Maya, captivated by its magnificence, ignored the cold sweat prickling her skin and walked towards the entrance.

The air inside was cool and still, a stark contrast to the scorching desert heat. The flickering light of an oil lamp cast grotesque shadows, and an eerie silence hung heavy in the air. As she ventured deeper, the carvings on the walls came alive. The serpents seemed to writhe and twist, their eyes glowing with an emerald fire.

Suddenly, the ground trembled. A monstrous serpent, its body as thick as a tree trunk and scales the obsidian of the temple walls, emerged from the shadows. Its eyes, hypnotic pools of emerald green, locked onto Maya. Panic surged through her, but her legs refused to obey.

The serpent hissed, a sound that resonated with the tremors of a distant earthquake. Its forked tongue flickered, and a rancid stench filled the air. Then, in a voice that seemed to echo through the very fabric of reality, it spoke.

"Who dares disturb the slumber of the Naga King?" The voice was ancient, primal, and filled with an unimaginable power. Maya, her voice trembling, explained her quest, her fascination with the legend of the Naga Mandir.

The serpent's head tilted as if in contemplation. "The Naga King does not have legends, child," it said, its voice rumbling. "We possess knowledge older than time, lost secrets of the earth."

An offer, veiled but tempting, hung in the air. Maya knew this was her chance to unravel the mysteries she had spent years chasing. But a primal fear warred with her insatiable curiosity. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke, "I... I would be honored to learn from you, Naga King."