Whistling Mine Novels & Stories

Jonas’s voice shouted: “We’ve got movement!” At dawn, they disguised themselves again, fishermen, traders, tourists, blending into the chaos of Manaus’s docks. The air reeked of diesel and salt, the wide brown A****n River sprawling out like a serpent, boats of all shapes cutting across its surface. Jonas pointed discreetly toward a rusting cargo vessel moored further down. “That’s one of Ethan’s ships. He moves minerals through it ,coltan, lithium, things that fund his empire. But it’s not the minerals we’re after. It’s the manifests. If we can get them, we can tie every shipment back to him.”

“Right. Does this have to do with how your house is bursting at the seams with stuff?” “Yup. Not sure who bought more, Esme or her father.” “It’s exciting.” “It’s something.” “What’s that?” Gunnar pointed to a small outcrop of stones out of place in the natural landscape. “Let’s go see.” On closer inspection, the stones created a well or opening. “There are tunnels running deep underground.” “A mine.” “Seems so. This was not listed on the perspective.” “Looks deep.” Gunnar threw a stone in, but we never heard it hit. “This is dangerous.” His words hung in the air as the ground gave way beneath us.

He lifted his head and pointed a chubby finger towards a narrow pass between two large hills. "Stone," he said, his first clear word all day. They followed his direction. As they entered the pass, the atmosphere changed. The wind, which had been whistling freely, now seemed to carry voices. Faint, sighing whispers that slipped between the rocks. It wasn't scary. It was sad. It was the sound of a thousand forgotten stories. The pass opened up into a small, circular valley, hidden from the world below. And in the center of the valley stood the Whispering Stones.

The air in the mine shaft, already thick with the smell of damp earth and ozone from Elara’s equipment, suddenly grew heavy, oppressive. It was a pressure change that had nothing to do with geology and everything to do with instinct. The sound that ripped through the oppressive silence was a grotesque violation of nature—a high-pitched, piercing shriek that mimicked the distress of a human infant, yet was distorted, layered with a wet, gurgling undertone that spoke of a throat not designed for such noises. It was a sound engineered to prey on the deepest, most primal fears.

Again the sound of barking dogs reaches my ears only louder as if the barking was coming from right above me. “HEEEEEELLLPPPP” I yell out with as much force as my now sore lungs can muster. “HEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPP MMMEEE” i keep yelling with all i have praying that they find me and help me. Times passes and the barking has now stopped, the only thing I hear is silence, just as I had started to give up hope a small sound of what I think was steal hitting rocks echo’s around me then slowly I start to see sparks of light until it blinds me.

"There are voices of people that linger when their lives are unjustly taken from this earth," Crystal said. "Voices of blood, and people who can't get justice for themselves. These voices belong to the souls of the dead, and the innocent. They can haunt you, torment you, and even try to kill you if they are strong enough. They are like air. They can't be seen. They can't be touched. They can be felt, but mostly through one's hearing. They glide in the air. The strong wind can stop them, and so can fire. Nature doesn't necessarily stop them, but anything too loud for you to hear them can temporarily stop them. And that is why they are called whispers.

[Elian's P.o.v] Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound of a heavy iron tool hitting rock was the only sound in the Northern Silver Mines. It bounced off the wet stone walls until it felt like the noise was stuck inside my head. I swung the heavy iron tool again. It hit the rock wall and sent a small cloud of gray dust into the air. I breathed it in. It tasted like ash and old metal. I coughed a dry, rough sound from deep in my chest but I did not stop swinging. If you stopped working in the mines, the guards hit you with heavy wooden sticks.

The chill of his touch locks my breath in place. I freeze. Before I can react, he shifts that same finger away and points toward the elevator doors. My brows knit together. I follow his gesture, turning slowly. That’s when I hear it. A whistling sound. Soft. Clear. Perfectly in tune. Someone outside is whistling the exact same song we’re hearing from the speaker. The steel doors stand inches away, dark and still. The whistle continues, close enough to prickle along my skin. At that exact moment, the chime sounds again. The elevator lights flare back on, too bright, too sudden. The cabin jolts, then lurches forward as the lift starts moving.

LYRA’S POV The noise inside the mine was enough to make my ears bleed. It wasn't just the snarling of the rogues anymore. It was the sound of the mountain itself screaming. Every time that thing...the massive, hulking beast that had been hiding in the deep shafts...slammed its fists against the ground, chunks of stone rained down on us.

I dropped my bags and stared out the giant window. For once, it actually felt quiet inside my head. The driver lingered, giving me that you-look-familiar look. I shrugged. "People say I look like Leone Rinehart. Probably just a mix-up." He laughed and drove off. I tugged my mask higher and made a beeline for the lodge. This was the only place I knew how to vanish. Snowy forests. Mount Everveil. I'd be a ranger through winter.