Whispers of Dow Hill



The mist rolled over the sleepy town of Kurseong, curling around the narrow paths of Dow Hill like ghostly fingers. The pine forests that encircled the hill whispered secrets to the wind, their shadows stretching like dark tendrils across the ground. Locals spoke in hushed tones about the hauntings of Dow Hill, a place where the living and the dead shared uneasy company.

Ria, a journalist from Kolkata, arrived in Kurseong on a chilly November evening. She had been chasing stories of the paranormal for years, but nothing had prepared her for the legends surrounding Dow Hill. Tales of headless apparitions, phantom footsteps, and eerie laughter drew her to the area. With her camera, a flashlight, and a notebook, she decided to uncover the truth.

On her first day, she explored the Victoria Boys' High School, a colonial-era structure long rumored to be cursed. The corridors were deathly silent, and the faint creak of the wooden floorboards made her uneasy. A local guide named Rajesh accompanied her, but even his confident demeanor faltered inside the school.

“They say you can hear footsteps at night, even when the school is empty,” Rajesh whispered. “Some who’ve heard them never return.”

Ria laughed nervously, brushing off the guide’s words. She focused her camera on a long, dimly lit hallway, her fingers trembling as she pressed record.

That night, Ria reviewed the footage in her room at a quaint guesthouse. Her heart raced when she saw the playback. As she panned the camera down the hallway, a shadowy figure appeared at the far end, its head unnaturally tilted. When she zoomed in, it vanished.

The next morning, she decided to explore the infamous forest trails of Dow Hill. Stories of a headless boy haunting the woods had circulated for decades. The locals claimed that anyone who encountered him would be cursed. Ria, skeptical yet intrigued, walked deep into the forest with Rajesh trailing behind.

The forest was eerily quiet, save for the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. Suddenly, Rajesh stopped.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Ria strained her ears and froze. It was faint at first but unmistakable—a soft, rhythmic tapping, like someone walking. Yet, no one was in sight.

Moments later, the air grew heavy, and the temperature plummeted. Ria’s breath clouded in front of her, and she clutched her flashlight tightly. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

“Rajesh, look!” she exclaimed, pointing towards the dense trees.

A boy stood there, facing away from them. He wore old, tattered clothes, and his body was unnaturally still. Then, in one grotesque motion, his head rolled off his shoulders and hit the ground. The body turned to face them, headless, and began walking towards them.

Rajesh screamed and bolted, but Ria stood frozen, paralyzed by fear. The boy’s headless form stopped a few feet away, and she felt an icy hand grip her arm.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” a disembodied voice echoed.

The next thing Ria knew, she was lying on the forest floor, the sunlight filtering through the trees. Rajesh was gone, and her equipment lay scattered around her. She stumbled back to the guesthouse, her mind a blur.

Later that evening, she learned that Rajesh’s body had been found near the school, his face twisted in terror. Ria, too shaken to continue her investigation, packed her belongings and left Kurseong the next day.

Months later, she reviewed her notes and footage. In one video, recorded just before the headless boy appeared, she heard faint whispers in the background. Amplifying the audio, she realized it was her own voice, repeating a chilling phrase she couldn’t remember saying:

“You belong to Dow Hill now.”