Section 1: The Arrival
Elena had forever been attracted to the curious, shocking appeal of her grandma's old house at the edge of the forest. After her grandma died, the family chose to sell the house, however, Elena asked to remain there for a couple of days. She expected to stand up to the recollections that spook her.
As she showed up, the air felt weighty, the sky cloudy with thick mists. The house lingered before her, its once-energetic paint stripping and blurred. Shaking off an uncomfortable inclination, she pushed open the squeaking entryway and ventured inside. Dust bits moved in the faint light, and a chill ran down her spine.
Section 2: The Primary Night
That evening, Elena sunk into her grandma's old room, encompassed by blurred photos and the aroma of lavender that waited in the air. As she attempted to rest, a delicate murmur ended the quiet. It appeared to come from the lobby outside her entryway.
"Help me… please… "
Her heart hustled. She sat up, stressing to hear. The murmur developed fainter, however she may as yet make out the words. Bringing her fortitude, she got up and opened the entryway, the old pivots moaning in a fight.
"Hi?" she called delicately, her voice shudder. The foyer was dull, extending like a shadowy throat.
"Help me… " the voice murmured once more, more resolute at this point.
Elena's interest blended with dread, however, she wound up attracted to the sound. She crawled a few doors down, the wood planks squeaking underneath her feet, driving her to the loft entryway.
Section 3: The Attic
The storage room was for some time neglected, loaded up with spider webs and residue. She flicked on the light, and the bulb flashed, creating inauspicious shaded areas on the walls. As she ventured inside, the murmurs became stronger, twirling around her like a chilling breeze.
"Help… me… "
Elena followed the sound to a trunk concealed in the corner. The murmurs appeared to radiate from the inside. Heart beating, she opened the storage compartment, uncovering an old journal enveloped by a worn-out fabric. The second she contacted it, the murmurs halted, supplanted by a shocking quiet.
Section 4: The Journal's Secrets
Flipping through the journal, Elena read her grandma's eerie sections, enumerating abnormal happenings in the house — objects continuing all alone, shadowy figures prowling at the edges of her vision. The last passage creeped her out:
"I can hear them now. They call for me. They need to take me. I dread I may not escape."
An unexpected whirlwind blew through the loft, closing the storage compartment. The room obscured, and Elena felt a presence behind her. She turned gradually, her breath getting in her throat. A shadow remained at the edge of the light, its shape vague yet unquestionably threatening.
Section 5: The Escape
Overreacting, Elena staggered in reverse, her heart dashing. The shadow drew nearer, a murmur reverberating to her, "Remain with us… "
Frantic, she got the journal and escaped the loft, hustling down the steps. As she arrived at the front entryway, she heard the murmurs once more, stronger now, an ensemble of voices encouraging her to return.
"Remain… remain with us… "
Elena burst through the entryway and ran into the forest, branches tearing at her skin. The murmurs blurred behind her, however, the sensation of being sought after waited. She didn't stop until she arrived at the street, falling against a tree to slow down and rest.
Section 6: Reality Revealed
Days after the fact, back home, the murmurs reverberated to her. She explored her family's ancestry and uncovered a dim truth: her grandma had fiddled with the mysterious, attempting to speak with spirits. It appeared to be the house had turned into a vessel for those caught between universes.
Not entirely settled to stop the unpleasant, Elena got back to the house one final time, equipped with salt and defensive spices. As she ventured inside, she felt the abusive load of the shadows encompassing her.
"Leave!" she yelled, her voice consistent. "You are not wanted here!"
Briefly, quietly wrapped the house. Then the murmurs rose to a stunning crescendo, voices arguing and irate. Shadows turned and squirmed, framing dim shapes that lingered nearer.
Section 7: The Confrontation
Elena poured salt around her, shaping a defensive circle. She recited the words she had mastered, calling strength. "I discharge you! Discover a true sense of reconciliation!"
The shadows stopped, twirling in disarray. Gradually, they started to withdraw, murmurs blurring into the distance. Similarly, as it appeared they would disappear, one final voice got through — her grandma's.
"Help me… remain with me… "
Tears gushed down Elena's face. "I love you, however, you need to give up."
At that time, a blinding light encompassed the room. The shadows dispersed, and with a last murmur, they were no more.
Section 8: The Aftermath
Elena remained solitary in the house, presently loaded up with a significant tranquility. The load on her heart lifted, yet the memory of the shadows waited. She locked the entryway behind her, realizing she could stay away forever.
As she left, she looked back one final time. The house stood quietly, its privileged insights covered, however, the shadows of Moksha Island would everlastingly torment her fantasies, an indication of the slender line between this world and the following.
About the Creator
SamiBD24
Dream essayist, writer, and ideally prospective author who needs to make places of refuge to discuss psychological well-being. Buy my free pamphlet at www.amandastarks.com for refreshes!
The Voice That Waited
Seen (1) At the edge of a quiet town stood an abandoned radio station, forgotten by time and avoided by locals. The building had been shut down for over twenty years, yet people claimed that at exactly 2:17 a.m., a faint broadcast could still be heard on an old frequency. No music. No news. Just a voice. Daniel was a small content creator who specialized in audio storytelling. He didn’t believe in rumors, but he believed in stories. When he heard about the mysterious broadcast, he decided to investigate—not for views, but for curiosity. One cold night, Daniel entered the radio station with his recorder and headphones. Dust covered the equipment, and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked dead. Silent. At exactly 2:17 a.m., the old transmitter crackled. A voice broke through the static. “Hello… is anyone listening?” Daniel froze. The voice was calm but tired, like someone who had been waiting for a long time. “My name is Arthur,” the voice continued. “I used to work here. If you can hear me, please don’t turn this off.” Daniel whispered into his microphone, “I’m listening.” The voice seemed relieved. “For years, I spoke into this microphone, hoping someone would hear me. When the station shut down, everyone left. Everyone except me.” Daniel’s heart raced. “Are you… alive?” There was a pause. Then a soft laugh. “That depends on what you mean by alive,” Arthur said. “I passed away in this building many years ago. But my voice stayed. This place remembers me.” Arthur explained that he had been a late-night radio host, speaking to lonely people, travelers, and insomniacs. The night the station closed, he stayed behind to record one final message—something meaningful. But no one ever aired it. He died alone, with his words unheard. “So I kept talking,” Arthur said. “Night after night. Waiting for someone to listen.” Daniel felt a heavy silence fill the room. “What do you want from me?” Daniel asked. Arthur answered gently, “I don’t need fear. I don’t need fame. I just want my message to reach someone. Anyone.” Daniel nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see him. “I’ll share your story.” For the first time, the static disappeared. Arthur’s voice became clear. “Tell them this,” he said. “You are not invisible. Someone, somewhere, needs your voice—even if you don’t know it yet.” The broadcast ended. The room fell silent. Daniel left the station before sunrise and spent the next day editing the audio. He uploaded the recording as a simple podcast episode titled *The Voice That Waited*. He didn’t add music. He didn’t add effects. Just the truth. Within days, thousands of messages poured in. People said the voice helped them through loneliness, grief, and dark nights. Some cried. Some found comfort. Some found hope. Daniel returned to the radio station one last time. At 2:17 a.m., there was no broadcast. The transmitter stayed silent. But Daniel smiled. Because he understood something important: Some voices don’t fade because they are loud. They survive because someone finally listens.
By Do bol ho jaaye 2 days ago in Horror
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