Voices

The flashes started first, coming in jagged fragments, each a snapshot that left you breathless. Hands clawing, fingernails biting into skin, the swing of an arm, the hollow crunch of bone on bone. A shadowed face caught mid-scream, droplets of blood suspended in air. You’d jolt awake each time, soaked in sweat, desperate to shake the memory and reassure yourself it wasn’t real.

But then the accusations came.

You hadn’t heard from Kyle in weeks. Something had gone wrong between you two, but you couldn't quite remember what. Then, one evening, an officer appeared at your door, his stare heavy with accusation.

“Do you know what happened to Kyle?” he asked. “He’s in the hospital—jaw wired, half his face stitched up.”

His words hit like a blow, twisting your insides into a cold knot. You couldn’t recall seeing Kyle at all, let alone hurting him. But when you glanced down, you noticed the bruises on your knuckles, glaring back like a dark reminder.

That’s when the voices began.

They were faint at first—whispers drifting through the edges of your thoughts. Sinister murmurs that slipped in when your mind was quiet, filling the silence when you tried to fall asleep.

“Kyle deserved it,” a low, gravelly voice whispered, sending a shiver down your spine.

“No,” you murmured back, feeling a rush of dread. “I wouldn’t hurt him. I wouldn’t.”

“Are you sure?” another voice taunted, icy and mocking, dripping with venom. It felt familiar, as if it had always been lurking in some dark corner of your mind, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

Night after night, the voices grew louder, more insistent, invading every crevice of your mind. You tried everything—blasting music, sleeping with the TV on, even drinking yourself into oblivion to silence them. But the voices only grew bolder, their words burrowing into your skin, seeping into your bones.

One night, lying rigid in the dark, the whispers merged, twisting into a chorus of eerie laughter, chanting your name, mocking you. And then, as if possessed, your hands began to move on their own. Your fingers flexed, your arms lifted, like a puppet tugged by unseen strings. It felt like something else was testing your body, claiming it inch by inch, like an intruder settling into your skin.

That’s when you realized—they were inside you, rooting themselves in your flesh, binding themselves to your very bones.

Days melted together in a fog. You found yourself haunting Kyle’s house, lurking just out of sight, watching him with a strange, twisted fascination. It wasn’t you who wanted to be there; the voices drove you, whispering encouragement, urging you to finish what you had supposedly started.

Then, one night, everything went black. Hours vanished, swallowed by an abyss. When you finally came to, you were standing in a desolate alley, your hands coated in sticky, fresh blood, your shirt stained in dark, spreading patches. In the distance lay a crumpled figure, limbs twisted unnaturally, the familiar outline filling you with horror.

It was Kyle.

The voices erupted in wild applause, their laughter vibrating through your mind, flooding you with a sick thrill that made you want to retch. You dropped to your knees, your entire body trembling as the voices surged, drowning out any remaining shred of control, obliterating the last fragments of you.

“Now you understand,” they hissed in unison. “You are ours. Just an empty shell, a puppet for our desires.”

You opened your mouth to scream, but the sound died on your lips. Even your voice was no longer yours. You could feel them digging deeper, embedding themselves in every corner of your mind, erasing all trace of who you had once been.

Staggering away from Kyle’s broken body, you knew it was over. Whatever part of you that had once been human had been devoured by the spirits that had slithered into your soul. They would keep you alive, keep you moving, dragging you from one victim to the next, feeding off your dread, your horror, your helplessness.

And with each passing day, you felt yourself slipping further, until there was nothing left—only the voices, and the hollow, empty shell that was once your own.

They had won, and you were condemned to watch, powerless, as they continued their rampage, turning you into a silent witness of every blood-soaked horror, every act of cruelty, forever trapped in their nightmarish shadow.