Meera had heard the stories all her life. The villagers always warned her never to go near the woods at night. They said you could hear whispers calling your name if you listened closely enough. No one knew who—or what—was responsible, but those who ventured in after dark rarely came back the same.
One evening, after a long day of hiking, Meera found herself on the edge of those woods. The sun had set faster than she’d expected, and now the sky was painted a deep shade of purple, the stars slowly twinkling to life. She hesitated. She could either walk the long way around and reach the village by midnight or cut through the woods and make it home in half the time.
The whispers were just stories, right?
With a deep breath, Meera made her decision. The woods stretched before her like an ink-black maze. Her footsteps crunched against fallen leaves, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. But as she moved deeper into the trees, the air began to change. It grew colder, the shadows lengthening around her as if the forest was watching.
That’s when she heard it.
At first, it was faint—a soft, almost imperceptible sound, like wind rustling through the leaves. But then it became clearer: whispers. They were calling her name.
**"Meera…"**
Her heart raced. She looked around, her flashlight darting across the trees, but she saw nothing. Just darkness, and the quiet, suffocating woods. She tried to shake it off, convincing herself it was the wind. But then, the whisper came again, louder this time.
**"Meera… come closer."**
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the wind. Someone—or something—was out there. She quickened her pace, the path twisting and turning underfoot. The whispers followed, growing more insistent, more urgent.
**"Meera… don’t leave."**
Suddenly, her flashlight flickered and died, plunging her into darkness. Panic surged through her as she fumbled for her phone. The whispers were louder now, surrounding her from every direction, as though the very trees were speaking.
**"Meera… stay with us."**
Her hands trembled as she managed to turn on her phone’s flashlight. The dim light revealed a path, but something was wrong. The trees looked different, twisted, and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal arms. The path she had been following was no longer familiar.
She was lost.
Heart pounding, Meera started running. She didn’t care where the path led, she just needed to get away from the whispers. But no matter how fast she ran, they followed, louder and closer with each step.
Then, up ahead, she saw it—a faint light, flickering through the trees. Relief flooded her. It must be the village! She sprinted toward it, desperate to escape the suffocating darkness.
But as she approached, the light shifted. It wasn’t the village. It was a single lantern, hanging from a tree, its glow casting eerie shadows on the ground. Beneath the lantern stood a figure—a woman, dressed in old, tattered clothing, her eyes wide and unblinking.
Meera skidded to a stop, her heart hammering in her chest. The woman’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. And then, with a chilling realization, Meera understood.
The whispers… they were coming from her.
The woman’s eyes locked with Meera’s, and her voice—low, raspy, and filled with despair—whispered once more:
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**"I’ve been waiting for you, Meera."**
Before she could scream, the lantern went out, and the woods swallowed her whole.
No one ever saw Meera again. But sometimes, late at night, the villagers hear whispers from the woods… calling their names.
संसार को सबैà¤à¤¨्दा गरीब त्यो हो, जसको आँखामा रुने बेलामा आँसु हुँदैन, सुत्ने बेलामा नींद हुँदैन अनि हाँस्ने बेलामा ओंठमा मुस्कान हुँदैन
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