illustrated stories
The Mysterious Whistle of the Mill 
Ghosts or Something More? 
| Stories for Children with Intrigue and Values
The wind blew gently in Grandma’s orchard, swaying the branches of the mulberry tree and slowly turning the blades of the old windmill. Everything seemed calm until, one afternoon, a strange sound began to be heard in the air.
«It was a strange and mysterious noise!» the windmill whistled in a disturbing way.
The children, who were playing near the well, fell silent. They looked at each other in amazement and a little fear.
«Did you hear that?» asked Mateo, with wide eyes.
«It sounds like a lament…» whispered Ana, hugging her brother.
«Maybe the windmill is haunted,» said Luis, with a trembling voice.
They ran to where Uncle Augustine was, who greeted them with a calm smile, sitting under the shade of the mulberry tree.
«Uncle Augustine, the windmill is whistling!» they all said at once.
The old peasant took off his hat, scratched his beard, and looked at the windmill with curiosity.
“That’s not a ghost thing, children,” he said calmly. “If the windmill sounds strange, there must be a reason. Let’s investigate.”
With a firm step, he walked towards the windmill, followed by the children who, although still afraid, trusted that their uncle would know what to do.
The sound grew louder as they approached. Uncle Augustine watched the slowly turning blades and then looked up at the top of the tower.
“It seems that the sound is coming from up there,” he said. “Matthew, bring me the ladder.”
Matthew ran to get it and, with the help of the others, they leaned it against the structure of the windmill. Uncle Augustine climbed carefully, holding firmly on each step.
When he reached the top, between one of the wooden cracks, something moved.
“Aha!” he exclaimed. “Here is our mysterious whistle.”
The children waited anxiously below.
“What is it, Uncle Augustine?” cried Anna.
Uncle Augustine gently pulled a small bundle out from between the windmill blades and held it in his hands. As they lowered it, the children saw with surprise that it was a small owl, with wide eyes and ruffled feathers.
“It’s an owl!” exclaimed Luis. “How did it get there?”
“It seems that it got trapped when it was looking for a safe place to sleep,” explained Uncle Augustine. “Its wings were in a bad position, and when the wind passed through the gap where it was trapped, the blades moved and the little owl moaned in pain and made the windmill whistle.
The children looked at the little owl tenderly. It was scared, but healthy.
“We have to cure it,” said Anna.
“That’s right,” nodded Uncle Augustine. “But first, we have to make sure it’s calm.”
They prepared a small straw nest in a box and gave it water. Now, the little owl seemed to be doing well. Then, when the sun began to set and the sky turned orange, they took the owl to the nearby forest.
“Come on, little friend,” Mateo whispered as he opened the box.
The owl blinked a couple of times and, with a soft flap of its wings, rose into the air until it landed on a branch. From there, it looked at the children and, as if it understood what they had done for it, it let out a soft hoot before disappearing into the trees.
The children felt happy and proud.
“Today we learned something very important,” said Uncle Augustine, adjusting his hat. “Sometimes, mysteries are not what they seem. And when we work together, we can solve any problem.”
The children smiled and looked at the old windmill, which now turned silently, moved by the wind, without any more mysterious whistles and noises.
And so, in Grandma’s garden, another day full of adventures and learning ended.
Uncle Agustín and The Mulberry Tree of Secrets 
| Children’s Educational Story.
In the golden light of dawn, the village children gathered near the black mulberry tree in Grandma’s orchard. It was a magical place, not only for the sweet blackberries it offered, but for the mysterious whispers its branches made when the wind blew. That morning, Uncle Augustine, with his straight-brimmed hat and the wheat straw between his teeth, was waiting for them under the shade of the tree.
“Did you know that this is not an ordinary mulberry tree?” said Uncle Augustine, his soft but firm voice attracting all the children’s attention.
“What’s so special about it?” asked Sofia, a girl with big, curious eyes.
Uncle Augustine leaned toward them, his white mustache shining in the sunlight.
“This tree holds ancient secrets, stories of the guardians of the forest. But it only reveals them to those with a pure heart and who are willing to listen with their soul, not just their ears.
Intrigued, the children sat in a circle around the tree. Uncle Augustine placed his calloused hand on the trunk of the mulberry tree and whispered a few words in a low voice. The leaves began to move gently, even though there was no wind. Suddenly, a soft, melodious voice emerged from the tree.
“Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a guardian named Ramiro, a brave and honest badger,” the voice narrated. The children exchanged excited glances as the story came to life. “Ramiro protected the forest with the help of his friends, a family of fireflies that illuminated the dark paths. One day, a hunter came to the forest with bad intentions. Ramiro, with his cunning and courage, prevented the hunter from causing harm, reminding him that nature is not an enemy, but a home.
“And how did he do it?” interrupted Thomas, his eyes shining with excitement.
Uncle Augustine smiled and pointed to a blackberry that was beginning to glow on the tree.
“Every lesson learned makes a blackberry glow, and so the tree preserves the memories,” he said. “Ramiro showed the hunter the beauty of the forest, from the fireflies dancing in the night to the crystal-clear rivers. When the hunter understood, he left his bow and arrows and left in peace.
The children listened attentively, reflecting on the story. When it was over, the tree whispered again, but this time the leaves seemed to laugh, as if celebrating the connection created between the children and the ancient guardians of the forest.
“Do you think we can also be guardians of the forest, uncle?” asked Andres, with a shining blackberry in his hand.
Uncle Augustine crouched down to their height, his gaze warm and firm.
“Of course, Andres. Being a guardian doesn’t mean being big or strong. It means being honest, caring for others, and protecting what you love, like Ramiro did.”
With a smile, the children promised to take care of the forest and respect its secrets. As they walked away from the tree, a gentle wind blew through the branches, as if to thank them for their commitment.
Uncle Augustine stood up, adjusting his hat and saying goodbye with a friendly gesture.
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And with that last whisper of the wind, the leaves of the tree moved once more, bidding the children farewell with their mysterious dance.