The Whispering Corridor

Evelyn Hart had always hated late-night overtime at the museum. The old building groaned with every gust of wind, the corridors stretched on endlessly, and her imagination filled the shadows with things she could not name. But the grant deadline loomed, and she needed to finish cataloging the artifacts before morning.

Her office sat in the east wing, just down from the Whispering Corridor—a narrow hallway so named by the staff because of its odd acoustics. Conversations spoken at one end could be heard clearly at the other, even in a whisper. Evelyn had tested it once with a coworker. It was true. Words traveled eerily through the hall, like voices carried by unseen wires.

At 11:46 p.m., the building was empty except for her. She told herself that, over and over. Everyone else had gone home.

As she typed, a faint voice carried into her office.

“Don’t go.”

Her fingers froze above the keyboard.

The Whispering Corridor.

Her rational brain jumped in: Probably the guard making his rounds. Maybe talking on the radio. Evelyn forced herself to keep working.

“Evelyn…”

Her name. Drawn out, as if by someone standing at the far end of the corridor.

She stood and stepped into the hallway, her pulse thrumming. The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by motion-sensor lights. Empty. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Hello?”

No answer. Only the hum of the air vents and the ticking of the security lights.

Uneasy, she went back inside and locked the door. But the whispers returned. Faint, but clear.

“They’re watching…”

She shoved her chair back and grabbed her phone. No service. Typical for the thick stone walls. Her only option was the landline at the reception desk—half a building away.

She opened her office door again. This time, the corridor lights were off, the far end swallowed in darkness. A draft of cold air licked at her ankles.

Something moved in that darkness.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. She forced herself forward, hugging the wall, her heels clicking too loud against the marble. With each step, the whisper grew clearer, circling her ears though no one was near.

“Too late… they know you’re here…”

Her heart thundered. At the end of the corridor, the main lobby opened wide. She hurried, breaking into a jog, then a sprint.

The lobby lights flickered to life. Empty. Reception desk waiting. Phone gleaming. She lunged for it, pressed the receiver to her ear—

Dead line.

She slammed the receiver down, panic flaring. A movement caught her eye—across the lobby, at the glass entrance doors.

Someone stood outside.

A tall figure, silhouetted by the streetlamp. Motionless. Watching.

Evelyn stumbled back. The glass reflected only her own pale face now. The figure was gone.

A clatter echoed behind her, down the Whispering Corridor. Something had fallen. A display case? She shouldn’t go back, but the museum was full of priceless relics. Her job demanded it.

Gathering every shred of courage, Evelyn returned. Halfway down the corridor, she froze.

The display cases lining the walls had changed.

Artifacts had shifted inside. Masks turned to face her, hollow eyes staring. One case stood open—though she had locked it earlier that evening.

Inside, a ceremonial dagger lay missing.

The whispers grew louder. “He walks among you…”

Evelyn spun, her back hitting the glass. At the far end of the corridor stood the figure she’d seen outside—tall, shadowed, unmoving. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see anything but the outline.

“Stay away!” she shouted.

The figure didn’t move. But the whisper didn’t come from him.

It came from behind her.

Cold breath touched her ear.

She screamed and bolted, racing for the exit. But when she reached the heavy glass doors, they wouldn’t budge. Locked. Her shaking fingers fumbled at the keys, dropping them to the floor.

Behind her, footsteps echoed. Slow. Deliberate.

She snatched the keys, tried again. One slid into the lock. She twisted, wrenched. The door flew open, cold night air flooding in. She stumbled onto the museum steps, gasping.

The street was empty. No figure. No movement. Only the hush of midnight.

She turned back once. The Whispering Corridor glowed faintly, though no lights were on. The whispers followed, carried on the wind:

“You’ll come back… you always come back…”

Evelyn fled into the night, but the sound clung to her, burrowing deep.

Because she knew she would come back.

She had left the dagger behind.

And something—someone—wanted her to return.