Title: The Mystery of the Forgotten Village

 

Writer : Masum 
Blog: EditorPosts

Deep in the heart of the Silverpine Valley, hidden beneath layers of mist, lay a forgotten village. Once a thriving settlement, it had vanished from maps and memory, leaving behind only whispers in the wind.

Eleanor Carter, a curious journalist, stumbled upon an old diary in her late grandmother's attic. The diary belonged to her great-grandmother, Margaret Holloway, who had once lived in Silverpine Valley. The last entry chilled Eleanor to the bone:

*"The bells toll at midnight. Those who listen too closely never wake again."*

Intrigued, Eleanor packed her bags and set off for Silverpine, determined to uncover the truth. Upon arrival, she found remnants of cobbled streets, broken lanterns, and houses half-consumed by ivy. The eerie silence pressed against her, broken only by the rustling of leaves.

She spent the day exploring, speaking to the rare few who lived on the outskirts. They spoke of strange happenings—voices in the wind, lights flickering in empty houses, and the ghostly chime of bells that no longer hung in the village square.

That night, she set up camp near the abandoned chapel. At exactly midnight, a low, haunting chime echoed through the valley. Eleanor's pulse quickened as she followed the sound, leading her to the ruins of the town hall. There, in the moonlight, stood a ghostly figure—a woman in a tattered gown, staring at Eleanor with sorrowful eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," the apparition whispered. "The village was taken by the toll of the cursed bells. Leave before you, too, are forgotten."

But Eleanor was not one to turn away from a story. She raised her camera, snapping a photo. As the flash illuminated the ruins, the figure let out a sorrowful wail, and the ground trembled beneath her feet. The air thickened, her breath caught, and darkness swallowed her whole.

When she woke, she was back at her car, the sun rising over the valley. Shaking, she checked her camera. The photos were gone. Only one thing remained—a fresh entry in her great-grandmother’s diary, written in trembling ink:

*"The bells toll at midnight. Those who listen too closely never wake again."*

As she turned the pages, she noticed something new—words appearing before her eyes, scrawled as if by an unseen hand:

*"You were warned. Leave now, and never return."*

Eleanor didn’t need another warning. She threw the diary into her bag, started the engine, and drove away without looking back. As she reached the main road, she cast one final glance in the rearview mirror.

The mist had consumed the valley entirely, and from within its depths, the midnight bells tolled once more.