🕯️ "The Whispering Well"

 🕯️ "The Whispering Well"

Long ago, in a small, forgotten village surrounded by dense forests, there was an ancient stone well at the center of the village square. It was known as The Whispering Well. Elders warned that anyone who leaned too close would hear voices — tempting, coaxing, and sometimes threatening. Many villagers vanished over the years, and every time, someone claimed they had last seen them near the well at night.

Despite the warnings, sixteen-year-old Nayeem, curious and stubborn, decided to test the legend himself. His friends dared him to spend one hour beside the well during midnight and listen to what it had to say. Nayeem, eager to prove he was fearless, accepted without a second thought.

One moonless night, when the wind howled through the forest like a crying child, Nayeem left his house quietly. He carried only a small lantern and his grandfather’s old hunting knife — just in case. When he reached the village square, the well stood there, silent and ancient, stones covered with moss, as if it had been waiting for him for centuries.

He sat by the edge, peered into the darkness below, and whispered, “Are you real? Do you really speak?”

At first, there was only silence, broken by the occasional rustle of leaves. Then, a soft murmur rose from the depths — so faint he thought he imagined it.

“Nayeem…”

He froze. The voice was like his mother’s, gentle yet echoing from somewhere deep underground.

“Nayeem… help me… I am trapped…”

Heart pounding, Nayeem leaned closer. The voice grew clearer, now sounding like his little sister’s giggle mixed with faint sobs.

“Jump in, brother… free us…”

A sudden chill crawled up his spine. He tried to pull back, but an invisible force tugged at his mind. The whispers grew louder, overlapping — hundreds of desperate voices pleading, begging him to come closer, to look deeper.

Nayeem’s lantern flickered and died. Darkness swallowed him. He felt cold, bony fingers brushing his face. He struggled to stand, but unseen hands pushed him toward the well’s mouth. He dug his heels into the wet earth, but his feet slid helplessly closer.

Suddenly, a shriek cut through the night — not from the well, but from behind him. It was his best friend, Tanvir, who had come looking for him. Tanvir grabbed Nayeem’s arm and yanked him back with all his strength. The whispers turned into angry screams, echoing through the trees, rattling the ground.

Together, they stumbled away from the well, breathless and shaking. The moment they crossed the village square, the voices vanished, leaving only the haunting echo of laughter behind them.

The next morning, the village elders sealed the well with heavy stones and warned everyone never to go near it again. But even today, on windless nights, some swear they hear faint whispers calling out to anyone who dares to listen:

“Help us… set us free…”

And the well waits — patient, hidden, and forever hungry for the next curious soul.

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