It was a night like any other, or so I thought. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of autumn leaves, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. I had just moved into an old house on the outskirts of town, a place that had been vacant for years. The realtor had assured me it was a great deal, but there was something about the house that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The first few days were uneventful, but as the week went on, strange things began to happen. It started with the creaks and groans of the old house settling, but soon I realized these noises were different. There was a pattern to them, almost as if someone was walking through the halls when I was asleep. I dismissed it as my imagination running wild, but the feeling of being watched never left me.
One evening, as I sat in my study, I heard it for the first time. A faint whisper, barely audible, coming from the corner of the room. I turned my head, but there was nothing there. I strained my ears, trying to make out the words, but it was too soft. I stood up and walked towards the corner, but the whisper stopped as soon as I moved. I shrugged it off and went back to my book, but the feeling of unease lingered.
The whispers grew louder over the next few days, and I began to hear them more frequently. Sometimes they were just random words, like “help” or “alone,” but other times they seemed to be forming sentences. I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. They were everywhere, in the walls, in the floorboards, even in the air. I could feel them crawling under my skin, driving me slowly insane.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to confront the source of the whispers. Armed with a flashlight and a sense of determination, I ventured into the basement. The air down there was thick with the smell of mold and dampness, and the darkness seemed to press in around me. I shone the flashlight around, but there was nothing unusual. Just old boxes, cobwebs, and the usual clutter of a forgotten space.
As I turned to leave, I heard it again. This time, the whisper was clearer, and I could make out the words. “Don’t leave,” it said. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. I turned around slowly, but there was still nothing there. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. “Who’s there?” I asked, but there was no answer. The whisper had stopped.
I decided to leave the basement and lock it up. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But as I walked back upstairs, the whispers started again. This time, they were all around me, a cacophony of voices that seemed to be coming from every direction. “Help us,” they said. “We can’t get out.”
I ran to my room and locked the door, but the whispers followed me. They were louder now, almost like screams. I covered my ears, but it was no use. The voices were inside my head, and there was no escape. I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my face. “Stop it!” I shouted. “Just stop!”
And then, as suddenly as they had started, the whispers stopped. The room was silent, and I could hear my own breathing. I sat there for a long time, trying to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. When I finally stood up, I knew I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. I packed my bags and left, never looking back.
Years later, I still hear the whispers sometimes. They’re softer now, but they’re still there, a reminder of that old house and the voices that haunted me. I never told anyone about it, and I never went back. Some things are better left forgotten, and some voices are better left unheard.
