The Faces in the Sky – A Short Horror Story Inspired by Indian Ghost Folklore
When Silence Becomes Terrifying
There are nights in Indian villages when silence feels heavier than noise—when every shadow hides a secret, and every gust of wind carries an omen. In such moments, supernatural spirits often stir, and tonight, Apratim was about to discover why.
He thought he was merely cycling home after visiting his friend Lokesh. However, the road had other plans. This is a short horror story inspired by Indian ghost folklore, and it tells the tale of the Aakaash Mukhiyaan, or the Faces in the Sky—spirits that never forget those who see them.
The Night Felt Wrong
Apratim pedaled along the kuccha village road, the silence pressing down on him like a heavy quilt. He had lingered too long at Lokesh’s house, talking about cricket and politics, until laughter gave way to yawns. By the time he left, the last village lights had vanished, swallowed by endless fields.
Meanwhile, the night air was cool but unnerving. It smelled faintly of damp soil—and something sour, like burnt incense left too long in a closed room. The moon peeked through shifting clouds, its glow breaking into jagged shards. Every time the light disappeared, darkness swallowed the world—and Apratim felt as though invisible eyes were watching him.
He tried to hum a film song to steady his nerves. Yet, he soon heard it:
Ting… ting… ting…
At first, he thought it was a cowbell in the distance. However, the sound wasn’t outside—it was inside his head. Sharp, metallic, and echoing, it scraped along his nerves, leaving him raw.
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The Sky Was Alive
His cycle wobbled. Vision blurred. He looked up—and froze.
Suddenly, the clouds had shifted. But not like normal clouds do. They had formed faces.
Three enormous faces floated above him, twisted from mist and moonlight. They weren’t human. Their mouths gaped unnaturally wide, stretching across the sky like torn cloth. Jagged teeth protruded like broken rooftiles, and their hollow, glowing eyes burned with hunger.
According to Indian ghost folklore, these were the Aakaash Mukhiyaan—spirits of those who died cursed in the fields, never given proper funeral rites. For anyone who travels alone in the night, they appear—observing, lingering, waiting for the right moment.
And now, they were watching him.
The Terrifying Chase
Apratim’s heart slammed. He bent low and pedaled furiously. The cycle chain clattered, and his legs burned. Yet, the faces did not fade—they glided above him, mouths widening as if ready to swallow the road itself.
The ringing grew louder.
Ting… Tingg… Tinggg… the sound was getting Louder.
Then came another sound.
Thup… thuupp… thuppppp…
Slow, heavy footsteps, right beside him. He didn’t dare look. Because every story he had heard warned: never look directly at what follows you at night.
The village lamps flickered and died one by one, leaving stretches of darkness along the road. Within these shadows, the footsteps grew clearer.
Crunch. Crunchh. Crunchhhh.
Barefoot. Massive. Walking beside him.
A voice hissed in the wind. Not human. Not natural. Broken syllables curling into his ears:
“Chal… chal… aur tez…”
He wanted to scream, but his throat was locked.
Safety, or a False Illusion?
Finally, the faint glow of his village appeared ahead. With all his strength, he pedaled faster. Muscles tore, lungs burned, and the cycle rattled as though it might fall apart.
And then—silence.
The footsteps stopped. The ringing dimmed. The faces dissolved into harmless mist.
Apratim didn’t stop until he was under the yellow glow of lanterns, surrounded by familiar voices. Breathless and drenched in sweat, he dared a glance back.
The road was empty. Silent.
Yet, deep inside, the sound still lingered:
Tiing… tingg… tinng…
The Aakaash Mukhiyaan had seen him. And once they see you, they do not forget. They wait. For the next…
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The Curse of Indian Supernatural Spirits
The road may seem quiet, but the Aakaash Mukhiyaan are never truly gone. In the marrow of Apratim’s bones, the ringing still lingers—watching, waiting, ready to return when night falls again. Apratim May never forget this horror in his life and maybe he will tell this horror story to his descendent.
In Indian ghost folklore, the curse of supernatural spirits does not end when the story ends. It follows you—like footsteps in the dark.
If you have ever heard stories of Aakaash Mukhiyaan in your village, share your experiences in the comments—maybe they are watching you too.
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