The Black Well Game

The city had been under curfew for three days.

No one knew what was happening outside — the government had shut down all networks, the roads were deserted, and the sound of sirens echoed every hour like some blind warning.

St. Mark College of Arts and Science — an old college in the city, its building dating back to the British era.

Built of red bricks, spread behind tall walls, it was a small world of its own — a world that had now turned into a prison.

Nearly one hundred and twenty students and a few professors were trapped inside the college.

At first, everyone thought it was just a matter of two days. Then they would go back home.

But on the night of the third day, when the generator shut down and mobile batteries began to die —

That was when fear slowly, silently, began to seep into everyone’s minds.

At eight-thirty, everyone was gathered in the college auditorium.

Dim light, flickering candles in the darkness, and cold air drifting in through the windows.

There was silence all around — only the candle flames trembled now and then, casting strange shadows on the walls.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed on the stage.

A tall, thin man with white hair walked forward slowly —

It was Professor Raghavan.

His eyes were very deep, as if they hid some secret within.

He smiled, but that smile was neither warm nor cold — it was simply strange.

“I think… the darkness outside has now entered this building as well,”

he said in a low voice.

“So why don’t we face this darkness with a game?”

There was a stir among the students — someone laughed, someone asked, “What do you mean, sir?”

Raghavan said,

“We will take turns telling stories.

Stories of fear.

But remember — every story will carry the scent of truth.

Because fear… does not live in lies.”

A cold shiver ran through everyone.

Some students protested, but the professor only smiled and said —

“If anyone doubts it, let’s begin with my story.”

And he slowly sat down.

The candle flame flickered across his face —

And he began to speak…

“This story is from the day… when I saw a human being die with my own eyes.

But it didn’t end there,

because… the next day, he was sitting in my class again.”

Silence fell over the auditorium.

Every gaze was fixed on that man,

And inside every heart, something unseen knocked in fear.

A faint breeze moved through the auditorium.

The candle flames trembled — and every shadow seemed to crawl along the walls like some hidden creature.

All eyes were fixed on Professor Raghavan,

whose voice was now low, yet cold — as if he were turning his own fear into words.

“This story is about ten years old…

from when I was teaching at a small college in Dehradun.

The college was old. Very old.

But the real age wasn’t in the building —

it was in the hostel.”

He paused for a moment and took a sip of water.

Someone coughed, someone checked the time —

but Raghavan continued speaking without looking at anyone.

“The hostel was called East Block —

but no one called it by that name.

Everyone said — ‘Don’t stay in Block-E.’

Why?

Because no student who stayed there ever completed a full year.”

A few students sitting at the back chuckled softly —

perhaps thinking this was just to set the mood.

Raghavan didn’t even look at them.

He simply continued his story.