The Whisper Room 1

Chapter 1: The Door at the End of the Hall

The first thing they told me when I moved into Marrow House was simple:

"Don’t go near the last door."

At first, I laughed it off. Old buildings always had their fair share of ghost stories, and this one, with its creaking floors and endless drafts, practically demanded them. Besides, my rent was cheap, and after months of searching for something I could afford, I wasn’t about to let a bit of superstition scare me off.

The hallway outside my apartment was dim even in daylight, the single bulb overhead flickering like it was struggling to stay alive. At the very end stood a door that didn’t match the others—darker wood, heavier frame, its brass knob stained and worn as if thousands of hands had touched it over the years.

Sometimes, as I passed it, I thought I heard things.

Faint scratching.

A whisper curling through the keyhole, too soft to catch clearly but just loud enough to set my teeth on edge.

I told myself it was nothing. Old pipes, maybe, or my overactive imagination.

But then, one night, when the wind was rattling the windows and the whole house seemed to groan under the weight of the storm, I heard it—clear as a voice in my ear:

"Let me out."

I froze in the middle of the hallway, my groceries spilling from my arms. The door at the end thudded once, as if something had thrown itself against it from the other side.

I didn't stay to see what it was.