Lucy’s fear

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"The Whisper in the Walls"

Lucy had always been afraid of the dark.

It wasn’t the childish fear of monsters under the bed or shadows in the closet. No, Lucy’s fear was rooted in something deeper—something that had followed her ever since that one night when she was eight years old, back in her grandmother’s old house in the countryside.

Now seventeen, Lucy hadn’t stepped foot in that house in nearly a decade. But when her grandmother passed away and the property was left to her parents, they decided to visit the house to decide what to do with it. Lucy tried to protest, but her parents wouldn’t hear it. "It’s just a house," her father said. "Nothing to be afraid of."

They were wrong.

The house sat at the edge of a forest, gray with age, its shutters dangling like broken limbs. Vines had crept up the sides, and the garden had long since surrendered to wild weeds. As they pulled into the driveway, Lucy felt her chest tighten. The memories came rushing back—the scratch of branches against windows, the echo of footsteps in empty halls, and most of all, the whispering.

Her parents busied themselves with checking the plumbing and electricity while Lucy wandered upstairs, drawn like a moth to the flame. She found herself outside her old bedroom. The door creaked open with a push, revealing faded wallpaper and dusty toys. Everything was just as she had left it. And yet... not.

The air was too still.

She stepped inside, heart pounding, and walked to the window. It was getting dark outside. She watched the trees sway in the wind and was about to turn away when she heard it:

A whisper.

It wasn’t loud. It was soft, almost like someone breathing just behind her. She spun around, but the room was empty.

“Lucy...”

Her name. Clear as day. Whispered from the walls.

She backed away, heart in her throat. “Mom?” she called. “Dad?”

No answer.

“Lucy... come back…”

The voice was low, urgent, and undeniably real. She stumbled out of the room and ran downstairs, finding her parents in the kitchen.

“There’s something upstairs,” she gasped.

They exchanged worried glances.

Her father sighed. “Lucy, it’s an old house. It creaks. Air gets trapped in the walls. You probably heard the wind.”

“No,” she insisted. “It said my name. It told me to come back.”

Her mother touched her shoulder. “You’re just anxious. You had a bad experience here as a child. It’s understandable.”

But Lucy knew what she had heard.

That night, they stayed in the house. Her parents took the master bedroom, and Lucy was given the guest room down the hall from her old one. She locked the door, pulled the blankets up to her chin, and tried to sleep.

The whisper came back around midnight.

This time, it didn’t wait in the walls. It drifted through the room like fog, curling around her bed.

“Lucy... you remember me, don’t you?”

She bolted upright, eyes scanning the dark room. There was nothing there.

But the voice didn’t stop.

“I never left... I’ve been waiting for you...”

Something moved at the foot of her bed. The air grew cold, and the shadows deepened. Lucy’s breath came in ragged gasps as she reached for her phone, but the screen stayed black. Dead.

And then the whisper turned into a low growl.

“You left me here... but now you’re mine again.”

The blankets were yanked off her body by unseen hands. She screamed, flailing in the dark, and finally threw herself toward the door. She fumbled with the lock and burst into the hallway, slamming into her father, who had come running.

“There’s something in that room!” she cried.

Her parents checked the room. Nothing. No sign of a break-in, no