The Whispering House

The Whispering House

The old Victorian house on Holloway Lane had been abandoned for decades. Its peeling paint, shattered windows, and sagging porch made it the perfect dare for reckless teenagers. But no one ever stayed inside for long—not after hearing the whispers.

Lena had heard the stories, of course. People said the house was cursed, that the previous family had died under mysterious circumstances. Some claimed they could still hear the mother singing lullabies at night, her voice drifting through the broken windows like a ghostly radio signal. Others swore they saw shadows moving behind the cracked glass, even though no one had stepped inside in years.

But Lena didn’t believe in ghosts.

The Dare

It was Halloween night when her friends challenged her.

"Bet you won’t spend an hour inside," Jake taunted, holding up his phone to record her reaction.

"Easy," Lena scoffed, rolling her eyes. "It’s just a creepy old house."

Her friends laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. They had all heard the rumors.

With a deep breath, Lena pushed open the front door. The hinges screamed in protest, and the smell of mildew and decay hit her like a physical force. The air inside was unnaturally cold, as if the house had been holding its breath for years, waiting for someone to step inside.

"One hour," she muttered to herself, checking her phone. "No problem."

The First Whisper

At first, nothing happened. The house was silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood. Lena wandered through the dusty rooms, her flashlight cutting through the darkness. The furniture was still there—rotting couches, a rusted dining table, even an old rocking chair that swayed slightly, as if someone had just gotten up.

Then she heard it.

A whisper.

So faint she almost thought she imagined it.

"Lena..."

Her blood turned to ice. She spun around, but the hallway behind her was empty.

"Okay, not funny," she called out, forcing a laugh. "Jake? Mia? If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working."

Silence.

Then—

"Lena..."

This time, it came from right behind her.

She whirled around again, her heart hammering. Nothing.

The Nursery

Trying to shake off the fear, she climbed the stairs, each step groaning under her weight. The second floor was worse—the wallpaper was peeling in long strips, revealing dark stains beneath. One door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar.

Curiosity overpowered her fear. She pushed it open.

A child’s nursery.

The crib was still there, its blankets moth-eaten and gray. A mobile of chipped stars dangled above it, swaying gently despite the still air.

And then she saw the words.

Scrawled in what looked like charcoal across the wall, over and over:

"DON’T LET HER SING."

Lena’s breath caught in her throat.

The Lullaby

That was when the singing started.

A woman’s voice, soft and sweet, humming a lullaby. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, wrapping around Lena like a suffocating blanket.

"Hush, little baby, don’t say a word..."

Lena stumbled back, her pulse roaring in her ears. The mobile above the crib spun faster, the stars clicking together like tiny bones.

"Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird..."

The rocking chair in the corner began to move on its own, creaking back and forth.

Lena turned to run—but the door slammed shut.

The Truth

The singing grew louder, filling the room. The walls seemed to pulse, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.

And then she saw her.

A woman in a tattered nightgown, her face gaunt and hollow, standing in the corner. Her lips moved in time with the lullaby, but her eyes were empty.

"STAY WITH ME," the woman whispered—except it wasn’t a whisper anymore. It was inside Lena’s head, digging into her thoughts like claws.

Lena screamed and threw herself at the door, yanking it open. She didn’t stop running until she was outside, gasping for air under the moonlight.

Her friends were gone.

The house stood silent behind her, its windows dark.

But as she turned to leave, she heard it one last time—

"You’ll come back."

The Aftermath

Lena never told anyone what she saw that night.

But sometimes, when she’s alone in the dark, she hears a faint lullaby.

And she knows—the house is waiting.

THE END.

Moral (Hidden Horror): Some doors should never be opened. Curiosity doesn’t just kill the cat—it damns the soul.

Would you like it to be even darker? I can add more dread or a twist ending!

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