The Whispering Shadows

Mira had always dreamed of living in a quiet countryside home, away from the chaos of the city. When she found an old Victorian house for sale at an unbelievably low price, she couldn't resist. The house was beautiful, though slightly worn with age. The previous owner had left suddenly, and no one in the town wanted to buy it. Mira didn’t believe in superstitions, so she dismissed the eerie warnings from the locals.

The first few nights were peaceful. She enjoyed decorating her new home, arranging furniture, and exploring the vast garden. But then, strange things began happening.

At night, she heard whispers—soft, barely audible murmurs that seemed to come from the walls. At first, she thought it was just her imagination, but soon, the whispers grew louder. Sometimes, she could make out words, though they made no sense.

"Leave now."
"She’s watching."
"It’s too late."

One evening, as she was reading in bed, she felt a cold breeze sweep through the room. The windows were shut tight. She dismissed it as a draft, but then she saw it—a shadow moving across the wall, even though nothing was there to cast it. Her heart pounded as the shadow stopped near the corner of the room and twisted unnaturally, forming the outline of a woman with hollow eyes.

Mira gasped and switched on the lights. The shadow was gone.

Determined not to let fear control her, she researched the history of the house. What she discovered made her blood run cold. The house had once belonged to a woman named Eleanor Grayson, who was accused of witchcraft in the 1800s. The townspeople, driven by fear, had locked her inside the house and set it on fire. She perished, but the house remained standing. From then on, anyone who moved in either left within weeks or vanished without a trace.

Mira tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was just an urban legend. But deep down, she knew—she wasn’t alone in that house.

That night, she awoke to a sound—a slow, deliberate creak, as if someone was opening her bedroom door. She turned over and saw the door was slightly ajar. Beyond it, in the dim hallway, stood a woman.

Eleanor.

Her burnt face twisted into a smile, and she whispered in a voice like rustling leaves, “You stayed too long.”

The lights flickered, and suddenly, the room was filled with dozens of shadows. They moved toward Mira, whispering, reaching for her. The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her was Eleanor’s charred hand gripping her wrist.

The next morning, the house was empty. Mira was gone.

A week later, the house was listed for sale again.

And the whispers continued.