The House That Whispers

Jason and Emily had been searching for a new home for months when they stumbled upon the old Victorian house at the edge of town. It was oddly cheap for its size, the previous owners seemingly eager to sell. "It's just an old house," Emily had said, brushing off Jason’s hesitation. But as they signed the papers, the real estate agent’s forced smile and the way his hands trembled did not go unnoticed.

The first few nights were uneventful, save for the usual creaks and groans of an aging house. But then came the whispers. Soft, unintelligible murmurs that seeped through the walls at night. At first, Jason thought it was the wind, but then he noticed something stranger—the whispers were always coming from the locked room at the end of the hall. The previous owners had left it sealed, the key missing.

One night, curiosity got the best of him. Armed with a flashlight, Jason pressed his ear to the door. The whispers grew clearer, shifting into distorted voices that murmured his name. "Jason… Jason… come inside." His breath hitched, and he stumbled back. Emily woke to find him sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat. "We need to leave," he whispered, but she only laughed. "You're letting this house get to you."

Determined to prove himself wrong, Jason forced himself to ignore the room. But the house had other plans. Objects began moving on their own—Emily’s jewelry box found on the kitchen counter, books rearranged on shelves, and once, he discovered the front door wide open despite locking it the night before. But what truly unsettled him was the mirror in their bedroom.

At first, it was just a shadow at the edge of his reflection, something his mind could easily dismiss. But one night, as he passed by, he froze. His reflection had stopped moving. It stared at him, grinning. Jason’s stomach turned to ice as the reflection lifted a hand and pressed it against the glass—but Jason himself had not moved. In that moment, the whispers surged around him.

Desperate for answers, Jason broke the lock on the forbidden room. Inside, he found rotting wallpaper, dust-covered furniture, and dozens of mirrors stacked against the walls. In each mirror, something moved—distorted figures, their hollow eyes watching him. One mirror in particular stood out. Unlike the others, its surface shimmered, alive, like liquid mercury. A voice, clear and sharp, echoed through the room. "You let us in."

The house screamed. The walls shook. The whispering became a deafening chorus. Jason stumbled back as the reflection in the shimmering mirror stepped forward. It was him, but twisted—its eyes were voids, its grin too wide, too unnatural. Emily's scream rang from the hallway, and Jason turned just in time to see her being dragged into the mirror.

He lunged, but his fingers met only cold glass. Emily’s terrified face stared back, trapped behind the surface. "Jason!" she cried, pounding from the other side, her voice muffled as if underwater. He screamed her name, clawing at the mirror, but it was too late. The glass rippled once… and she was gone.

Jason ran. He didn’t stop until he reached the front yard, his breaths ragged. The house stood silent. The whispers had stopped. Everything seemed… normal. But as he turned back, his blood ran cold. The bedroom window reflected something impossible—Emily standing there, staring down at him… her mouth moving in silence.

The next morning, Jason filed a report. But when the police arrived, the house was empty. No mirrors, no locked room, no trace of Emily. "Sir," one officer said hesitantly, "Are you sure you lived here? This house… it’s been abandoned for over twenty years."

Jason turned, his own reflection in a nearby car window shifting, its lips curling into a grin. Somewhere in the distance, the whispers began again.