Todos os capítulos de The Black Well Game : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Hostel Block-E“I had been there barely three weeks when one night, a scream came from the hostel.So horrifying that the entire building woke up.When people rushed there,they saw that the door of Room No. 203 was locked from the inside.There was no sound coming from within.”“The warden arrived, the door was broken —and what was inside… changed my life.”He fell silent.The room was swallowed by silence.Someone finally gathered the courage to ask,“What was it, sir?”Raghavan smiled.“The room was completely empty.But written on the wall in blood were the words —‘She has returned.’And the most terrifying part —the boy who lived in that room, Aniket,was present in my lecture the very next day.”“But sir, you said he was dead?”a student in the front asked, his voice trembling.Raghavan nodded.“Yes… I was there myself. I saw his body.His throat was slit.The police were called, a post-mortem was done.But the next day… when I walked into the class,he was sitting on the ver

The auditorium was swallowed by dense darkness. Someone tried to turn on their phone flashlight — but just like the network, the batteries had given up too. Only the sound of wind drifting in from outside could be heard, and in between, the creaking of an old ceiling fan, as if it too was breathing under the shadow of fear. Someone suddenly remembered — Arya had been sitting right there moments ago. But now her chair was empty. She wasn’t visible. Her voice was gone. Only the shard of broken glass on the floor still faintly shimmered where she had been. From the crowd, someone whispered, “Maybe this is some trick by the professor…” No one responded. Because a question had begun to rise inside everyone — If this is a game… then how does it end? Suddenly, a laugh echoed from the back row. Rishabh. Always smiling. Always the one who made fun of everything. He stood up and said casually, “Why are you all so scared? Come on, yaar. This is just a psychological game. A

Only a few candles were still burning in the hall. The rest had gone out, as if they had surrendered to fear. After Neha’s story, no one dared to speak. No laughter, no whispers—only the sound of breathing. The same question floated on every face— Is this really happening? Or are we all just playing a game with our own fear? Then, from behind, a deep, steady voice spoke— “Now it’s my turn.” Everyone turned at once. Aarav was standing there. Tall. Straight-backed. The always-calm Aarav—known as the most logical one in class. The one who laughed at every scary story and said, “Ghosts don’t exist. It’s all just a mind game.” But today… today, there was no smile on his face. His eyes looked strangely empty, as if he was here—yet trapped somewhere else. In a low voice, he said, “I didn’t believe any of this either… but maybe what I saw wasn’t just a story. It’s still walking with me.” No one in the hall even dared to cough. Aarav slowly walked toward the stage. With every ste

The candles were now half-burnt. The air felt heavy, and shadows danced across the walls as if someone had brought them to life. After the last story, no one spoke. Then, from the back row, Vivek stood up. Topper of the Mobile Science department. The one who always found a logical explanation for everything. His voice trembled slightly, but his words were clear. “Maybe it’s my turn now. The story is called… The Lost Phone.” He walked slowly toward the stage. There was no phone in his pocket. Everyone noticed. No one asked. Vivek began— “Two weeks before the curfew, my phone went missing in the hostel. I assumed someone had stolen it. I didn’t have time to buy a new one, so I let it go.” He paused. “But three nights later, when I was alone in the lab… I received a message.” His eyes darkened. “From that same old phone.” A chill spread. “The message said— Why did you forget me?” Someone tried to laugh nervously. Vivek didn’t react. “At first, I thought it was a pran

A thin fog had begun to fill the college auditorium. Old posters hanging on the walls fluttered as if it wasn’t the wind moving them, but someone’s breath. Shards of broken glass scattered across the floor glimmered in the dying candlelight—each fragment held a flickering shadow, yet none of those shadows had steady eyes. Every reflection seemed to be looking in a different direction. A little while ago, Arya’s chair had gone empty. Now, everyone felt as if that chair had been occupied again—by something invisible. A sudden gust of wind crept in from outside. The door creaked. The candle flickered, nearly went out, then flared back to life—as if someone refused to let it die. “Whose turn is it now?” The voice didn’t come from anyone’s mouth. It came from the walls. Everyone shuddered. That’s when Aman—silent until now—stood up. His eyes searched the darkness, as if looking for something unseen. “Maybe… it’s my turn to speak,” he said. There was no tremble in his voice. Only a