The whispering veil

It was a house no one spoke of, not because it had been forgotten, but because the memories it held were too terrifying to relive. Nestled on the edge of a dying forest, this Victorian mansion had stood for over a century, crumbling and sagging under the weight of time and silence. Locals called it The Veil a fitting name for a place that separated this world from whatever lurked beyond.

Diana Lockwood had heard the stories her entire life. Growing up in a nearby village, the whispers about the Veil Mansion were unavoidable. Children dared each other to step on its creaking porch, but no one ever ventured beyond that. Some said they saw shadows behind the windows, others swore they heard voices calling their names from the trees. No one could explain it, but everyone believed something sinister lived within those rotting walls.



Diana had always been curious, and a little reckless. Now a journalist with a reputation for debunking paranormal claims, she saw the Veil as her next challenge. Armed with a camera, a notebook, and a recorder, she was determined to spend a night in the mansion to uncover whatever truth lay behind the legends. If ghosts existed, she would find them or prove once and for all that they didn’t.

As the sun began to set on a brisk October evening, Diana arrived at the mansion. The iron gate, rusted and overgrown with vines, groaned as she pushed it open. The front yard was a twisted landscape of dead trees and thorny bushes, long since abandoned to nature’s grip. The house loomed ahead, its once-grand facade now a patchwork of crumbling brick, shattered windows, and sagging eaves. Despite its dilapidation, it seemed to stare back at her, as though waiting.

With a deep breath, Diana stepped onto the porch, the wooden planks creaking ominously beneath her weight. She turned the knob of the front door, surprised to find it unlocked. As it swung open, a rush of stale, cold air met her, carrying with it the faint scent of decay. She paused in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior.

Inside, the house was a graveyard of forgotten furniture draped in dusty sheets. Faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, and cobwebs hung like delicate lace from the ceiling. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional groan of the house settling into its ancient bones. Diana set her equipment down in the grand hallway, checking her camera and recorder.

Her plan was simple: she would explore each room, document any strange occurrences, and spend the night in the master bedroom. But as she ventured deeper into the house, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. The air seemed heavier here, as though the mansion itself was pressing in on her.

She began with the parlor, where old portraits of the mansion’s original owners still hung on the walls. The Lockwood family her ancestors. She felt a chill at the thought, realizing this place was tied to her in ways she hadn't fully grasped. Her great-great-grandparents had lived here, but their story had ended in tragedy. Her great-great-grandmother, Evelyn Lockwood, had vanished without a trace one night, leaving behind a cryptic note: “The Veil has spoken.”

No one knew what it meant.

Diana stood before one of the portraits a young woman with hauntingly familiar features. Evelyn. Her eyes seemed to follow Diana, filled with a mix of sorrow and warning. Shaking off the unease, Diana moved to the next room, the library, where rows of old, crumbling books lined the shelves. As she scanned the room, her camera flickered a brief static interruption. She frowned, tapping the screen.

Suddenly, a noise echoed from upstairs a slow, deliberate creak, like footsteps. Diana’s heart leapt into her throat. She grabbed her recorder and listened closely. Silence. Then, the sound came again, this time closer, as though someone—or something—was descending the stairs.

“Hello?” Diana called, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to remain calm. No response.

She hurried back into the hallway, her eyes darting toward the grand staircase that spiraled up into the darkness. The air grew colder, and she swore she saw her breath fog in the dim light. For a moment, she considered leaving just walking out and letting the house keep its secrets. But her pride wouldn't allow it. She had a story to finish.

With her flashlight in one hand and the camera in the other, Diana started up the staircase. Each step groaned beneath her feet, echoing through the silent house. When she reached the landing, she stopped, shining the beam of light down the corridor. The doors to the bedrooms stood slightly ajar, as though inviting her in.

She chose the first door on the left, pushing it open slowly. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a bed and a small dresser. The air felt different here, colder, and heavy with an unseen presence. Diana's skin prickled with a sense of dread. She raised her camera, scanning the room.

That’s when she saw it a figure, standing in the corner by the window. It was faint, barely more than a shadow, but unmistakably human-shaped. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears. The figure didn’t move, but the air around it seemed to pulse, as though reality itself was bending.

Diana slowly backed out of the room, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her mind raced. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But as she turned to leave, the whispering began soft at first, like wind through the trees, but then louder, more insistent. Voices. Dozens of them. Calling her name.

She ran, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The whispers followed, growing louder with each step. She reached the master bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing her back against it as though it could hold back whatever was out there. Her recorder had been running the whole time, and now it was picking up the voices, a cacophony of words she couldn’t understand.

Desperately, she reviewed the footage on her camera. The figure was there, clearer now tall, shrouded in a flowing dress, its face obscured by darkness. But then the figure moved, slowly raising its hand and pointing directly at the camera. Directly at her.

Diana’s blood ran cold. She knew then what the Veil was a barrier between life and death, a place where the lost were trapped, waiting for someone to listen. And she had heard them. The whispers weren't just voices they were a call, a plea for help. Or perhaps…a warning.

She felt the cold seeping through the walls, creeping into her bones. The whispers rose to a deafening roar. The last thing Diana saw before the darkness consumed her was the figure standing at the foot of the bed, reaching out with long, skeletal fingers.

The camera clattered to the floor, its screen flickering with static.

In the silence that followed, the house sighed, content. The Veil had spoken again.

And this time, it had taken what it wanted.

The End!