Whispers in the Attic

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The house on Blackwood Lane had been abandoned for years, its windows boarded up, its wooden frame groaning under the weight of time. It had a history—a dark one—whispered about in town but never spoken aloud. They said no one who entered ever stayed. They said the walls remembered.

When Mark and Lisa bought it, they dismissed the rumors. Ghost stories were for children, and besides, the price had been too good to pass up. They had plans—renovations, fresh paint, new life breathed into old bones.

The first few nights were uneventful. The house was drafty, the floors creaked, but nothing unexpected happened. Then came the whispers.

At first, Lisa thought it was the wind—a faint murmuring that slithered through the walls, vanishing the moment she focused on it. But as the nights passed, the voices became clearer.

They were calling her name.

“Lisa…”

One night, she shook Mark awake. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He rubbed his eyes.

“The voices. Someone’s whispering.”

Mark listened, but the house remained silent. He sighed. “You’re imagining things, babe.”

Lisa wasn’t so sure.

The next day, while Mark was at work, she explored the house, determined to find the source. She followed the whispers up the old, winding staircase, past the peeling wallpaper, and toward the attic door.

It was locked.

Lisa frowned. They hadn’t been up there yet. She searched the house until she found an iron key in the kitchen drawer. Her hands trembled as she fit it into the lock.

The door creaked open.

A wave of dust swirled in the dim light. The attic smelled of mildew and something else—something rotten. Old furniture lay draped in white sheets, but what caught Lisa’s attention was a large, antique mirror leaning against the far wall.

It was covered in grime, but as Lisa stepped closer, she saw movement.

A reflection—no, something inside.

Lisa wiped the dust away, her breath hitching. The attic behind her was empty, yet in the mirror’s reflection, a woman stood there. Her skin was gray, her eyes sunken and hollow. Her mouth stretched into an unnatural grin.

Lisa stumbled back, a scream clawing at her throat. The woman in the mirror tilted her head.

“Help me,” she whispered.

Lisa bolted from the attic, slamming the door behind her. She locked it and shoved the key back in the drawer, determined to pretend she had never gone up there.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

That night, Mark found Lisa sitting in bed, knees hugged to her chest.

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitated. If she told him, he’d think she was losing it. “I just… I don’t think we should stay here.”

Mark sighed. “Lisa, it’s an old house. It’s gonna make noises. We just need time to settle in.”

She wanted to believe him.

That night, Lisa woke to the feeling of something watching her. The room was dark, but a shadow loomed near the foot of the bed.

The whisper came again, closer this time.

“Lisa…”

The shape moved. A cold, skeletal hand brushed her ankle.

Lisa screamed.

Mark shot up. “What? What is it?”

She pointed, but the shadow was gone.

“I saw something,” she gasped. “It touched me.”

Mark turned on the light, checking the room. “There’s nothing here.”

But Lisa knew what she felt.

The next morning, Mark found the attic key lying on the nightstand.

Lisa swore she hadn’t put it there.

Mark, skeptical but wanting to ease her fears, decided to investigate. He climbed the attic stairs, Lisa reluctantly following. When he opened the door, the mirror was the first thing he saw.

“What the hell?” He stepped closer.

Lisa held her breath. The mirror was different now. The glass was darker, and the woman inside was gone.

Mark reached out. The moment his fingers touched the surface, the glass rippled.

A hand shot out.

Lisa screamed as long, bony fingers wrapped around Mark’s wrist. He struggled, but the grip was inhumanly strong. The mirror’s surface turned liquid, pulling him in.

Lisa grabbed his other arm, but it was like fighting quicksand. Mark’s eyes widened in terror.

“Lisa, don’t let go!”

She pulled with all her strength, but the thing inside was stronger.

With a final, guttural scream, Mark was yanked into the mirror. The surface solidified instantly.

Lisa collapsed, gasping.

The attic was silent.

She turned to the mirror, hands trembling.

Mark was there, on the other side.

His eyes were wild with fear, fists pounding against the glass. “Lisa! Get me out!”

But behind him, something moved.

The woman.

She grinned, wrapping her arms around Mark, her fingers digging into his skin.

Lisa reached for the mirror, but the surface remained cold and hard.

Mark’s screams faded as the darkness swallowed him whole.

The whisper came one last time.

“Lisa…”

She ran.

Lisa left the house that night, never looking back.

A week later, a new FOR SALE sign appeared on the lawn.

And in the attic, the mirror waited.

Silent.

Patient.

Hungry.

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