Light the Fire Jacksons Hollow

Nestled amidst wild, unspoiled events of the Western Ghats where clouds brushed their green peaks’ underbellies, a forgotten village existed in time. Only those that searched for myths knew about her; other people preferred being oblivious. A lot of them anyway!

Wind howled above trees around me so loudly although it sounded soft however sad; as if it were speaking through a deadness impersonal ghostly voice. Suddenly startled across my chest whilst lying down in bed this is because all memories I’ve experienced recently remained on the horizon like fragments which never stick together properly into one image

Amara woke to the sound of mournful wind howling up among trees around Dandeli-tiger reserve: an eerie note proper to spirits’ talk by recalling only to souls left long ago. She suddenly found herself awakening from powerful nightmares to dark and damp room without any single source supplying light except dim glow appearing through slats over windows. For just a short while, she failed to remember where she was. Memories of earlier week seemed hazy in her mind;Like an incomplete puzzle missing some pieces needed for fitting them into required image.

She had gone to Devgarh for some mission. Exactly what that mission was she hardly remembers. All one could recollect is that she came here in this distant hamlet on earth edge by some reason which cannot be explained. A sort of pull, a pressure or intuition that kept bothering her mind until its magnetism became too difficult to ignore.

Amara swung her legs over and stood up from bed; as the creaking wooden planks under her made their complaint about weightiness. The girl crossed the room to window and opened it wide letting cold air in at night time through dark corners of place. Below lay peaceful village obscured in twilight. Every inch of it exuded eeriness although it was completely still outside even during nighttime period in question. It had those moments when all your senses were activated especially those located on back side of your neck but probably only me would know what I mean by this statement because in any case nobody could have seen anything there.

She turned around leaving behind that window with an intention of getting rid whatever discomfort it had put on her skin however she was still feeling apprehensive deep down inside herself. Her mind needed more clarity whatever contest it should involve.

Amara dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. She strapped her knife to her thigh, a comforting weight against her skin, and slipped out of the room. The house she was staying in was small and sparsely furnished, a single-story structure made of stone and wood. It had been offered to her by the village headman, a man named Harish, who had greeted her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity when she had arrived two days ago.

Harish had said little during their brief interactions, his eyes wary as they darted between her and the knife at her side. But Amara had sensed something else beneath his cautious exterior—fear. Fear of what, she couldn’t say. But it was enough to make her trust him.

As she stepped out into the night, the chill of the mountain air bit into her skin. The village was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. Amara made her way down the narrow dirt path that led from the house to the village square, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of pine needles that carpeted the ground.

The square was empty, the buildings that surrounded it dark and shuttered. In the center stood a large banyan tree, its gnarled roots twisting up from the earth like the fingers of a buried giant. The tree was ancient, its trunk thick and scarred, its branches reaching out like a

skeleton's arm towards the surrounding structures. Amara stopped to look around for a second before walking away into the village square. She was late for dinner but she couldn't help herself; she wanted to savor this moment of solitude in such a busy life.

She didn't know how long she stayed there standing still, gazing up at the expansive starry sky, losing herself in this incomprehensible universe. It was always the same with stars; they twinkled and glittered above as if playing tricks on us mortals who believed them to hold any meaning. But they were just huge balls of burning gas far away from us, far beyond our understanding. Amara turned her back on the tree and started walking back to where she had come from. Her footsteps echoed softly on the stones beneath her slippers.

There were no lights illuminating the paths between the houses; every dwelling was wrapped in darkness—the light from some lantern or flame barely breaking outwards through windows. She stumbled along bumpy tracks that were covered with rugged stones from which her steps had already crushed mosses before her footfalls were able to crush them into dust again. In one way or another these things always happened every time.

In retrospect, he was right; but Amara found it hard to understand what he meant by that at first. Of course he did not have time for momentary musings when all these things were happening: they were disturbing him too much already! Therefore, having waited a few more minutes, he called her name aloud and looked towards her direction hoping that perhaps she would hear him despite being so far away. No one responded except for silence broken only by distant fluttering birds somewhere inside thick forests surrounding them; then silence settled again upon everything like snow does over winter hillsides until spring melts away its white coat again into bright green grasslands dotted with beautiful flowers blooming where tundra was just yesterday too cold for life itself!

Her small room lacked furniture. The old oven was the only thing in there, a broken window that was nailed shut, and no floor. Her narrow couch served as bed for her although it had not been made nor did she ever bother to do so whenever she felt lonely or wanted to cry off all her worries on those cushions (she never did). Amara had owned nothing but clothes since last summer because of this circumstance (she had not even a toothbrush). Instead she always carried everything with her in an enormous black bag which had seen better days long time ago already. At least twice she forgot to leave it outside when going out and later on found herself standing too near a door that opened straight into the street; Amara then returned home carrying all things at once again.

Her grandmother's name had been Nuria and therefore Amara thought of her grandmother whenever remembering childhood memories. In real life this woman got drunk every night but during daylight hours she was like a fairy tale figure belonging only to the past; by evening Nuria smelled worse than any pub did in summer

For a moment, she thought she was dead. And then slowly but surely she woke to the realization with which many people die: “I am alive.” Below her, the ground was cold hard stone and the air thick with dampness of earth. She understood that somehow inside an underground chamber she had found herself again still not being able to tell how that happened.

Amara pushed herself up on hands and knees cringing when pain shot through ribs painfully at first glance were covered with bruises (although bruises didn’t hurt as much as broken bones did). In total darkness exploring felt like crawling around in unfamiliar room without knowing where any of its borders lay. The place seemed small; walls seemed so close they pressed against her sides. Like trapped animal behind bars she suddenly understood.

“Hello?” she said trying not to cry out loud because no one would hear anyways.

No response.