Horror story

**The Whispering Walls**

It began with a whisper.

At first, I thought it was the wind. My new home, an old Victorian house on the edge of town, creaked and groaned like a living thing. The real estate agent had called it "charming" and "full of character," but she failed to mention the way the walls seemed to breathe, or how the shadows in the corners never quite disappeared, no matter how many lights I turned on.

I moved in on a cold, gray afternoon in October. The house had been vacant for years, and the air inside was thick with the scent of dust and decay. As I unpacked my belongings, I tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. But the whispers started that night.

They were faint at first, like the rustle of leaves against a window. I told myself it was just the house settling, or the pipes groaning in the walls. But as the days passed, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, echoing through the empty halls and creeping into my dreams.

### The First Night

I woke to the sound of my name.

It was 3:07 AM, and the house was pitch black. The voice was soft, almost tender, but it sent a chill down my spine. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, and listened. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice trembling.

No one answered.

I told myself it was just a dream, a trick of my tired mind. But as I lay back down, I heard it again—a whisper, so close it felt like someone was standing right beside me.

"Stay with us."

### The Shadows

The whispers grew louder over the next few nights. They were no longer confined to the darkness; they followed me during the day, slipping into my thoughts and twisting them into something dark and unfamiliar. I began to see things out of the corner of my eye—shadows that moved when they shouldn’t, shapes that flickered and vanished before I could focus on them.

One evening, as I was washing dishes in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of a figure standing in the doorway. It was tall and thin, its features blurred, as if it were made of smoke. I dropped the plate I was holding, and it shattered on the floor. When I looked up, the figure was gone.

### The Basement

The whispers led me to the basement.

I had avoided it since moving in. The door was heavy and warped, and the lock was rusted shut. But one night, as I lay in bed, the whispers became a chorus, urging me to go downstairs.

"Open it," they said. "See what lies beneath."

I don’t know why I listened. Maybe I was too tired to resist, or maybe the whispers had already taken hold of me. I grabbed a flashlight and made my way to the basement door. The lock broke easily, and the door swung open with a groan.

The air inside was cold and damp, and the beam of my flashlight barely pierced the darkness. The stairs creaked under my weight as I descended, each step bringing me closer to something I couldn’t name.

At the bottom, I found a room. The walls were covered in strange symbols, carved deep into the stone. In the center of the room was a chair, its wooden frame splintered and cracked. And on the floor, in a circle around the chair, were dozens of small, blackened bones.

### The Truth

The whispers stopped after that.

But the silence was worse.

I tried to leave the house, but every time I reached the front door, I found myself turning back, drawn to the basement like a moth to a flame. The shadows grew bolder, their forms becoming clearer, more defined. I could see their faces now—hollow eyes and gaping mouths, twisted into expressions of hunger.

They wanted me to sit in the chair.

I don’t know how long I resisted. Days? Weeks? Time lost all meaning in that house. But eventually, I gave in.

The moment I sat down, the whispers returned, louder than ever. They filled my head, drowning out my thoughts, my memories, my very sense of self. The shadows closed in, their cold hands gripping my arms, my legs, my throat.

And then, nothing.

### The New Tenant

The real estate agent showed the house to a young couple last week. They said it was "charming" and "full of character."

As they walked through the halls, they didn’t notice the way the walls seemed to breathe, or how the shadows in the corners never quite disappeared.

But they will.

And when the whispers start, they’ll listen.

Just like I did.