The Cursed Village of Devpur

The Haunting of Devpur Village

It was a chilly evening when four friends—Aryan, Kabir, Meera, and Riya—drove through the remote countryside of India. They were on a road trip, exploring hidden places, when they stumbled upon an old, abandoned village called Devpur.

The village was eerily silent. Broken huts, dried-up wells, and a temple covered in vines stood in the middle. A cold breeze blew, making the trees whisper.

“Why is this place abandoned?” Meera asked, hugging her jacket.

Kabir, always the adventurous one, grinned. “Let’s find out!”

They walked deeper into the village, their footsteps echoing on the cracked stone paths. Suddenly, Aryan stopped. “Guys… did you hear that?”

A faint whisper, like someone calling their names, floated through the air.

Riya clutched Meera’s arm. “Let’s go back. This place gives me chills.”

Before they could turn around, the temple bells rang—loud and clear.

“But… there’s no one here,” Aryan whispered.

The wind howled, and the shadows around them seemed to move.

Kabir pointed at an old house with faded paintings on its walls. “Let’s check inside.”

Meera shook her head. “No way! We should leave.”

But Kabir was already pushing the creaky wooden door open. The house smelled of dust and something rotten. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling.

As they stepped inside, a sudden **thud** made them jump. The door had shut by itself.

Riya screamed. “Open it! Now!”

Aryan pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Meera turned pale. “We’re trapped.”

A faint giggle echoed from the dark corners of the house.

Then, a whisper—“Why have you come back?”

The friends huddled together. Kabir shone his flashlight around the room.

A painting on the wall caught their attention—a woman in a red saree with hollow, black eyes. Her lips curled into a wicked smile.

Then, she blinked.

Meera gasped. “Did… did that just move?”

The giggle turned into soft humming. Footsteps creaked above them.

“We are not alone,” Aryan stammered.

Kabir finally kicked the door open, and they ran out, hearts pounding.

The village had changed. The once-dead trees now swayed as if alive. The well, which was dry moments ago, was now overflowing with dark, bubbling water.

A voice whispered again—You shouldn’t have come.”

Suddenly, shadows rushed toward them. Pale hands reached out from the ground.

They sprinted to their car, gasping for breath. The engine roared to life, and Aryan sped down the road.

As they left Devpur, the village disappeared into the mist, as if it had never existed.

Nobody spoke for a long time.

Finally, Meera whispered, “What… was that place?”

Kabir, still shaken, replied, “A place where the dead never left.”

They never spoke of Devpur again. But at night, in their dreams, they still heard the whispers.

Moral of the Story: Some places are forgotten for a reason. Not everything abandoned is empty.