The Hollow Whisper

The small town of Graves End had always been quiet—too quiet for some, even in the busy months when tourists passed through to admire the scenic view of the distant mountains and crystal-clear river. But for Emily, the town had always been home, though a home she never truly understood. It had secrets, dark secrets buried beneath its cobbled streets and dilapidated buildings. Secrets that only revealed themselves in whispers. Whispers that were faint, barely audible, and yet, unrelenting.

One afternoon, Emily found herself walking down the overgrown path to the old cemetery at the edge of town. Her grandmother had always warned her not to go there, but there was something that beckoned her now—an irresistible pull she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the memories of her childhood, of her grandmother’s tales, of the quiet warnings she had brushed off all those years ago. The cemetery had always been a place of quiet solitude, full of faded tombstones and forgotten souls.

But today was different.

As she stepped past the old iron gates, the air seemed to grow colder, the light dimmer. The whispers started, faint at first, like a murmur in the back of her mind, too quiet to make sense of. She paused, listening, but it was as if the wind itself was speaking to her—carrying words she couldn’t quite hear.

“Emily…”

Her name was barely a whisper, drifting through the trees like a half-remembered dream. She turned, heart pounding in her chest, but the cemetery was empty. Nothing moved but the swaying of the trees. The whispers continued, growing stronger, more insistent. They came from all directions, surrounding her, pulling at her sanity.

She pressed her hands against her ears, but the voice refused to quiet.

“Emily… come closer…”

Despite her fear, Emily moved deeper into the cemetery, following the voice like a moth to a flame. It was impossible to ignore, impossible to resist. The gravestones seemed to watch her as she walked past, each step heavier than the last.

The whispers led her to an old, cracked mausoleum at the farthest edge of the cemetery. Its stone door was half open, as if inviting her inside. Without thinking, she stepped forward, her hand brushing against the cool, worn surface of the mausoleum’s entrance.

Inside, the air was thick with dust. The walls were lined with old wooden shelves, some holding crumbling urns, others long-forgotten relics. And in the center of the room, on a pedestal, lay a large, tarnished mirror. It was odd—too ornate for such a forsaken place. The glass shimmered unnaturally, as if it were a window to something else. It reflected her face, but not her eyes. No, her eyes were gone—replaced with empty blackness, as though the mirror was devouring her very soul.

The voice returned, clearer now, coming from the mirror itself.

“Why have you come, Emily?”

Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t her voice. It was deeper, more malevolent. It was a voice that spoke from the darkness itself.

“You shouldn’t have come,” the voice hissed, its tone thick with menace. “But now that you have, there’s a price to be paid.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the mausoleum dropped sharply. Emily’s breath became visible in the air, her skin prickling with cold. The mirror began to ripple like water, and within its depths, strange figures appeared—twisted, distorted shapes, their eyes hollow, their faces stretched in grotesque grins. They reached out from the glass, their hands curling around the edges, attempting to break free.

“You are ours now,” the voice growled. “You came seeking answers, but all you will find is an eternity trapped in the glass. Forever… as one of us.”

Emily’s heart raced as she backed away, but the mirror seemed to draw her in, pulling her closer with an unnatural force. The figures in the glass grew more real, their fingers brushing against the edges, scratching at the surface with claws that seemed to tear at the very air.

With a scream, Emily turned and bolted from the mausoleum, running blindly through the cemetery, her heart pounding in her chest. But the whispers followed her, always just behind her, growing louder, more urgent.

“Emily… Emily…”

The wind picked up, howling through the trees, and she could hear the sound of footsteps behind her. When she dared to look back, the cemetery was empty. No one followed her. No one was there.

And yet, the whispers never stopped. They were with her now, inside her mind, clawing at her thoughts. When Emily arrived back at her grandmother’s house, she slammed the door shut behind her, but the voice followed her inside.

That night, as she lay in her bed, she could hear it again—the voice whispering, relentless and cold, drifting through the walls.

“Emily… You shouldn’t have come back. You shouldn’t have listened…”

The mirror in the mausoleum had been waiting. And now, so was she. Trapped between the real world and the world behind the glass, a prisoner to the whispers.

Thank you for reading The Hollow Whisper. If you enjoyed this haunting tale, please consider liking and sharing it with others who dare to listen to the whispers from beyond.