windmill
Tomás, terrified, almost fainted 
The Ghost of the Mill 
And what it was will make you laugh! 
That evening, like so many others in the orchard, the Chicago Air Motor windmill turned slowly in the gentle breeze. The blackberries were ripe, and the large tree offered us shade while the children settled at Uncle Augustine’s feet, who already had his twig in his mouth and his hat firmly on.
«Today I’m going to tell you something that happened to Tomas when he was younger,» he said with a mischievous smile. «Although he was very scared at first… now he laughs every time he remembers it.»
Tomás, a little older now, covered his face with his hands while the other children looked at him with curious eyes.
«A scary story, Uncle?» asked Rita, the smallest of the group.
«Well… it depends on how you look at it,» said Uncle Augustine with a chuckle. It turns out that one night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Tomás eavesdropped on the ghost stories his grandmother was telling his sisters. I was there too, of course. She talked about the “Boy with the Green Lamp,” the “Scarecrow of the Creek,” and even the “Faceless Horseman.”
Tomás quietly covered himself with a blanket in the living room, pretending to be asleep… but his eyes were wider than the ranch gate.
The children laughed. Tomás just nodded, remembering that night well.
“When Grandma finished telling the stories, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said loudly, ‘That boy is already asleep. You better send him home before the night watchman catches him.’ And I knew she was talking about Tomás. So I touched his shoulder, and he pretended to wake up.
“I didn’t want to leave!” Tomás protested. “The story was so good!”
—I know, boy! But the best part comes now. You see. The path from the mill to Tomás’s house isn’t very long, but that night there was no moon. Only the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the mill accompanied his steps. Tomás walked with his heart heavy, imagining the Faceless Horseman coming down the hill or the Scarecrow dragging his chains along the path.
The children’s eyes widened.
—He was walking quickly, looking around, when suddenly… he heard something. Tac, tac!… slow footsteps. He stopped. The mill turned once more, creak, and the wind fell silent. Then, in front of him, two enormous eyes shone in the darkness. Fixed. Round. Like two lit lanterns!
—AAAAH!—Rita shouted, hugging her cousin.
—Tomás shouted even louder!—Uncle Agustín said, laughing. He ran out like a bat out of hell, crossed Grandma’s yard, went through the door, and hid under the table, shaking like jelly.
«And what was it, Uncle?» a boy asked, without blinking.
«Well… we all went out with lamps, thinking the ghost himself had appeared. But do you know what it was?»
Everyone shook their heads, holding their breath.
«It was Pancracio!» said Uncle Agustín, bursting into laughter. «Don Eulogio’s donkey!» He had gotten loose and was strolling calmly around the mill. His eyes reflected the light from the house, and he looked like a ghost, but he was actually looking for fallen blackberries.
The laughter was not long in coming. Tomás laughed too, now without shame.
«Since then, Tomás isn’t afraid of ghosts anymore… but every time he sees a donkey, he cracks a little smile,» Uncle Agustín concluded with a wink.
The children applauded and asked for another story. But first, Grandma Doña María arrived with sweet bread and a pot of hot atole.
«And now, for a snack!» she said affectionately. «No story is ever enjoyed on an empty stomach.»
And so, amid laughter, blackberries, and bread rolls, that night was etched in the children’s hearts… like one of the many times fear dissolves with the light of truth.
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Mysterious Lights at the Mill 
| Ghost or Magic? Find out with Uncle Augustin and Grandma
The nights in Grandma’s orchard were usually quiet and peaceful. The distant chirping of crickets, the murmur of the wind through the trees, and the soft creaking of the old Chicago Air Motor windmill created a melody that lulled anyone to sleep. But that night, something was different.
Sofía was the first to notice. Peeking out the window, she saw flickering lights near the windmill, as if a pair of floating eyes were surrounding it. She called to her brother Tomás, and together, they stared in amazement at the figures that seemed to dance in the air.
«It’s a ghost!» Tomás whispered, his eyes wide open.
«What if it’s the spirit of the windmill?» Sofía added, a little scared.
The two of them ran to where Uncle Agustín was playing his guitar under the mulberry tree. Hearing them, he put his instrument aside and frowned with an amused smile.
«A ghost in the mill? I certainly didn’t expect that tonight,» she said as she stood up.
Grandmother, who was coming out with a cup of tea, also heard the story.
«Come on, children. Let’s all see what this mystery is,» she suggested calmly.
Together they walked with lanterns toward the mill, which creaked softly with each gust of wind. The lights were still there, moving as if dancing to the rhythm of the air. But as they got a little closer, Uncle Augustine burst out laughing.
«It’s not a ghost, children! They’re fireflies!»
«Fireflies?» asked Sofia, approaching curiously.
«That’s right,» Grandmother confirmed. «A whole family, it seems. And look how they fly, as if drawing shapes in the air!»
The children watched, spellbound. The tiny lights joined together in circles, spirals, and shapes that at times resembled a smiling face, a star, or even the outline of the windmill itself.
«That’s why we thought it was a ghost!» exclaimed Tomas. «How incredible!»
Uncle Augustine crouched down beside them and murmured,
«Fireflies have a special language with their lights. Sometimes they use it to communicate with each other. Maybe this family is celebrating something.»
«What if we do something to protect them?» suggested Sofia. «I don’t want anyone to scare them or try to lure them away from the windmill.»
Grandma smiled tenderly.
«That’s a wonderful idea. We could put up a sign that says: ‘Home of fireflies. Do not disturb.'»
And so they did. The children, with Uncle Augustine’s help, painted a small sign that they placed next to the base of the windmill. They also looked in Grandma’s old books for information on how to care for these insects.
The next day, when the sun rose, the children carefully explored the garden, discovering tiny fireflies still dormant on the leaves and trunks. They prepared small spaces for them with shade, water, and flowers to make them feel comfortable.
From that night on, the dancing lights became a nightly spectacle in the garden. The children invited their friends, who came with blankets to sit and watch the firefly ballet under the stars. It became a tradition to listen to stories told by Grandma while Uncle Agustín played his guitar to the rhythm of the wind.
And the old mill, instead of being a mysterious place, became the most magical corner of the garden.
Because, as Uncle Agustín said, «Sometimes ghosts aren’t scary. They’re just made of light and little wings that want to tell a bright story.»
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#kidsStory #windmill #UncleAgustin #Grandma #fireflies #mysteriousLights
Something Strange in the Mill 
A trick of the wind or a message from the past?
The sun was slowly setting over the orchard, tinting the sky with shades of gold and orange. The wind began to blow harder, making the branches of the old mulberry tree rustle.
Uncle Augustine settled under the shade, his hat firmly on and the sprig of wheat in his mouth. Around him, the children listened attentively to one of his stories. But then, a mysterious sound interrupted their conversation.
It was a melody, soft, but clearly recognizable, floating in the air as if the wind were singing.
«Did you hear that?» asked Sofia, her eyes wide open.
«Yes! Where’s it coming from?» whispered Lucas.
Everyone fell silent, trying to locate the source of the melody. It was coming from the windmill.
Uncle Augustine stood up slowly, frowning. His expression suddenly changed, as if his mind had traveled back in time.
«It can’t be. » he murmured in a trembling voice.
The children looked at each other, excited and confused. Why was their uncle reacting like that?
Just then, Grandma came out of the house with a tray of freshly baked bread. But when she heard the melody, she placed the tray on the table without saying a word. Her eyes filled with surprise and nostalgia.
«That song…» she whispered, moved. «Our mother used to sing that song when we were children.»
The children felt a thrill of emotion.
«How is that possible?» Tomás asked.
«Maybe the windmill learned to sing?» Lucas joked.
The melody continued, carried by the wind, lost among the trees in the orchard.
«There must be an explanation. » Grandma said in a serious voice. «But first, we need to remember the full lyrics.»
She sat down in the old rocking chair and closed her eyes. Then, in a sweet and melancholy voice, she began to sing:
«Blow the wind, take me away,
take me to the river, take me to the sun.
When I return, tell me a dream,
tell me who I was, tell me who I am…»
The children listened attentively. It was the exact same melody that was playing from the mill!
«This is incredible. » murmured Lucas. «It’s as if the mill remembers her!»
«That means the mill might be hiding something.» said Sofia with a big smile. «We have to find out what it is!»
The children ran around the mill, touching the aged wood, trying to find any clues.
«Maybe there’s someone hiding here,» said Tomas, putting his ear to the structure.
«Or maybe… the mill is haunted!» joked Lucas, although with a slight shiver.
Uncle Augustine stroked his beard curiously.
«I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in old stories that still have something to tell.»
Grandmother ran her hand along the walls of the mill, as if searching for something in particular.
«When we were children, our father spent hours fixing this mill. He always said the wind had its own voice and, with the right tool, it could even sing.»
Just then, a stronger gust of wind blew, and the melody became clearer and sharper.
The children and Uncle Augustine decided to investigate further. If the windmill could sing, there must be something hidden inside it.
With flashlights in hand, they climbed the creaking staircase to the inside of the tower. Everything was dark, covered in dust and cobwebs.
«It smells old in here,» Tomás commented, wrinkling his nose.
«It’s a windmill with many years… and many stories,» Uncle Augustine replied.
Lucas ran his hand along the wood and noticed something strange.
«There’s something here!» he exclaimed, pointing to a small metal box embedded in one of the beams.
«What could it be?» Sofia asked excitedly.
«Well, we won’t know if we don’t open it,» Tomás said, rubbing his hands together.
Uncle Augustine took an old screwdriver out of his pocket and removed the lid of the box. Inside, they found a mechanism made of tubes and very thin wooden paddles.
«It’s a giant whistle!» Tomás marveled. «More than a whistle,» Grandma explained with a smile. «It’s a wind organ.»
«Organ?, Like a piano?» Lucas asked.
«Something like that, but instead of keys, it uses the wind to make the tubes sound,» Grandma said.
Sofía leaned over to get a better look at the mechanism.
«So… when the wind blows hard, this device plays the song. That’s why it sounds just like your mom’s melody!»
Grandma nodded with a nostalgic smile.
«Our father must have built it many years ago… but I don’t remember ever seeing it.»
«Maybe he did it in secret, so the song would never be forgotten,» Uncle Agustín said, moved.
The children tried to blow into the tubes, but instead of the melody, an off-key sound came out.
«We don’t know how to play it!» Sofía laughed.
«It sounds like a cow learned to sing!» Tomás joked. Uncle Augustine laughed and shook his head.
«It’s because the wind is the true musician here. Only he knows how to make it sound right.»
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind entered through the cracks in the windmill, causing the mechanism to vibrate. And the melody rang out clearly again, filling the air with its sweet harmony.
Lucas looked at the others with a big smile.
«We did it! The windmill is still working!»
Uncle Augustine took off his hat in a sign of respect, and Grandma closed her eyes, letting the memories take over.
«This song accompanied us in our childhood… and now it’s still here, as if the windmill knew we still need it.»
Back in the orchard, the children and grandparents sat under the mulberry tree.
«So, our grandfather left this here, so that the wind would always remind us of his song,» Lucas said, moved.
Grandma nodded with a tear in her eyes.
«It’s as if it’s sending us a message from the past, reminding us who we are and where we come from.»
Sofía looked at the windmill with a new perspective.
«Maybe one day, when we’re no longer here, someone else will hear this song and wonder who sang it.»
«And so, history will live on,» Tomás said with a smile.
Uncle Agustín adjusted his hat and looked at the horizon.
«Stories, like songs, are never lost if someone remembers them.»
The sun was beginning to set behind the hills when the wind blew again. And once again, the melody rang out, enveloping everyone in a moment of pure magic and nostalgia.
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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.
A Magic Crystal in Danger… The Children and Uncle Augustín Must Protect It! 
Under the starry sky of the orchard, the old Chicago Air Motor windmill slowly turned in the night breeze. For generations, that windmill had hidden a secret that only Uncle Augustine knew: inside it, hidden behind a secret compartment, there was a special crystal that absorbed the light of the stars and reflected it in magical sparkles.
That night, while the children listened to Uncle Augustine tell stories under the mulberry tree, a strange sound was heard in the windmill. Ramiro, the most curious of the group, ran to see what was happening and saw shadows moving between the metal structure.
“Uncle Augustine! Someone is in the windmill!” Ramiro shouted urgently.
Uncle Augustine immediately stood up, adjusting his hat.
“Good heavens! It seems they have come for the crystal,” he murmured with a frown.
The children looked at him in astonishment.
“What crystal, uncle?” asked Anita.
“One that has the brightness of the stars and a special power. It is a very old treasure that has remained hidden so that it does not fall into the wrong hands,” answered Uncle Augustine.
Without wasting time, the group crept up to the mill. Among the shadows, they saw three men dressed in dark cloaks trying to force the wooden gate.
“We must stop them!” whispered Miguel.
“But we are just children…” said Carolina, worried.
Uncle Augustine smiled and crouched down to their height.
“When the stars shine together, they light up even the darkest night. You don’t have to be big or strong to do the right thing. We just have to work as a team.”
The children looked at each other and nodded with determination. Quickly, they came up with a plan: while some threw blackberries to distract the thieves, others loosened the ropes of an old flour sack on top of the mill.
“Now!” shouted Ramiro.
The criminals were covered in white flour and began to cough without being able to see anything. In the midst of the commotion, Uncle Augustine took a whistle out of his pocket and blew it loudly. Immediately, the dogs from the orchard came running and barking, causing the thieves to flee in terror.
When everything calmed down, the children entered the mill and saw the crystal hidden in its secret compartment. Its light shone brighter than ever.
“We did it!” exclaimed Carolina.
Uncle Augustine smiled proudly.
“Because we work together, like the stars in the sky.”
The children nodded, understanding that the true magic of the crystal was not only in its brightness, but in the union and shared effort.
From then on, every night they gathered under the mulberry tree, looking at the mill and remembering that, as long as they were together, nothing and no one could extinguish their light.
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