The Sorcerer's Thread [ The best horror story ]

 

Aarav wasn’t the kind of man who believed in curses or spirits. He believed in her—Meera.

They’d grown up together in a village that clung to the mountains like a secret. She was the kind of girl who laughed with her whole body and made the wind feel warmer just by walking into a room. But cities have a way of changing people. When Meera left and never looked back, Aarav cracked.

It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was humiliation. She chose him—Rajat, the polished city boy with a fake smile and a car that cost more than their village school.

Aarav started having dreams—distorted memories of Meera, her smile melting into something cruel. He’d wake up sweating, breathing her name like a prayer and a curse.

One night, drunk on rage and longing, someone whispered to him, “Go to Bhauri.”

He laughed. That name was spoken only in warnings, not directions.

But desperation makes skeptics into believers.

Bhauri’s hut was a ruin, draped in dry vines and the smell of rot. The door opened before he could knock. Inside, she was already grinding something in a mortar—bones, maybe. She never looked at him when she spoke.

“You want her back,” she said. “Not because you love her. Because you hate being forgotten.”

Aarav’s mouth went dry.

“I can bind her heart to yours. But love bound in shadows must be fed. Daily.”

She tied a red thread soaked in his blood around his wrist. That night, Meera called him.

She said she dreamt of him. That she missed him. That something in her needed him now.

Within days, she returned. But it wasn’t her—at least, not the Meera he remembered.

She would stare at him, unmoving, for hours. She would speak in half-sentences, like someone was feeding her the words. Once, he woke up to find her standing at the edge of the bed, eyes open but lifeless.

“I hear her,” she whispered. “She says I’m his now. That I’m sewn into his soul.”

Aarav tore off the thread. Burned it. But the marks it left were permanent. The dreams didn’t stop.

Then one night, Meera screamed—her voice not her own. A high-pitched howl filled the house. Her limbs jerked like marionette strings being yanked. She laughed in three different voices.

Aarav ran to Bhauri’s hut.

It wasn’t there anymore.

Only a circle of ashes, and in the middle, a thread—still red, still warm.

Now, villagers say you can sometimes hear Meera’s scream in the trees. They say Aarav was last seen talking to shadows in the forest, holding a thread, begging for forgiveness. Some believe he's still out there, binding more hearts, offering red threads in the dark.

Because when you use black magic to own love, you don’t just lose the person.

You lose your soul.