The Whispering Walls

It was supposed to be a quick weekend job. My crew and I were hired to start clearing out the old Manor on Hollow’s Road, an abandoned relic known for its ghost stories and haunted reputation. Sure, it had a creepy vibe, but it was just a house, right? So we thought.

We split up to get to work, but from the moment I headed down to the basement, I felt it—that sinking, itching feeling that something was… off. The basement reeked of mold and something sharper, like rusted metal. I figured it was just the old pipes. But as I looked around, I spotted a weird plastered patch on the wall, halfway finished as if someone had started hiding something and then stopped.

Curiosity got the best of me. As I reached out to touch the patch, I heard it. A whisper, soft but close, like it was right next to me: “Help me…”

I froze, heart hammering in my chest. Was it my mind playing tricks on me? I shook it off, trying to laugh, but the air suddenly felt heavier. The whispers continued, getting louder, more frantic. And they were calling my name.

I forced myself to keep working, trying to drown it out, but the whispers were relentless, filling the room with pleading voices. Each one sounded like it was trapped somewhere deep within the walls.

Then, in a flash, my lights flickered. I turned around just as they went out completely, and in that brief moment, I saw it: a figure inches from my face, with hollow, desperate eyes and a face twisted in agony.

My flashlight flickered back on, and it was gone. But the silence that followed was somehow worse.

I swallowed hard, barely daring to move. I looked at the wall again and saw something I hadn’t noticed before, words scrawled in red: “Help us… or join us.”

My gut screamed for me to get out of there, so I turned and raced up the stairs, ready to call it quits. But when I got to the top, the door was… gone. No door, no way out. Just a solid, featureless wall. I banged on it, shouting for my crew, but there was no answer—just the faint echo of my own voice.

And then… the whispers returned. They weren’t pleading this time. They were cold, and angry.

The last thing I heard was a voice, inches from my ear, chilling in its certainty:

“Welcome to the wall.”