The Whispers in the Attic

The old house had always stood at the edge of the small town, decaying and abandoned, with its windows shattered and its doors hanging loosely on their hinges. It was the kind of place parents warned their children about, where ghost stories circulated, and dark rumors grew. For as long as anyone could remember, no one had lived there, and no one dared to enter it—until tonight.

A group of college friends, out for a thrill, decided to spend the night in the house. "Come on, it's just an old building," said Ravi, the boldest of the group, trying to hide his nervousness. His girlfriend, Pooja, clung to his arm, reluctant but unwilling to be left out. Maya, always the skeptic, rolled her eyes. "It’s just a house," she muttered, leading the way.

The door creaked as they stepped inside, the air thick with dust and the smell of rot. The walls were stained, the wallpaper peeling away like dead skin, revealing the raw, cracked wood beneath. Moonlight filtered through the shattered windows, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the floor.

"Let's go to the attic," suggested Ravi, grinning mischievously. It was said that the attic was where strange noises could be heard—whispers, footsteps, things that didn’t make sense. No one had been up there in years.

The stairs groaned as they climbed, every step heavier than the last. Each creak and crack of the wood beneath their feet made their hearts race faster. The temperature seemed to drop the higher they went, their breath becoming visible in the cold air. They finally reached the door to the attic—a heavy, wooden thing, warped with age. Ravi pushed it open, revealing a large, empty space covered in dust.

As they stepped inside, something felt wrong. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and there was a faint sound—like a whisper, so soft it was almost imperceptible.

"Did you hear that?" Pooja asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maya shrugged. "Probably just the wind," she said, but even she didn’t sound convinced. Ravi laughed nervously and walked to the center of the room. "See? Nothing to worry about."

But then, the whispers grew louder. This time, they all heard it. It was unmistakable, like voices—multiple voices—whispering all at once, overlapping and indecipherable, as if they were all around them.

"Okay, maybe we should leave," said Pooja, backing towards the door. But as she turned, the door slammed shut on its own. The sound echoed through the attic like a gunshot, and the room plunged into darkness.

Maya pulled out her phone to use the flashlight, but the beam flickered and died. Panic set in as they fumbled in the dark, trying to find the door. That’s when the voices changed. They weren't just whispers anymore. They were louder, clearer—angry. And they were saying their names.

“Ravi… Pooja… Maya…”

Ravi’s heart pounded in his chest. "Who’s there?" he shouted, his voice trembling.

A cold gust of wind rushed through the room, though there were no windows, no openings. The whispers became shrieks, deafening and disorienting. Pooja screamed, and something unseen yanked her backwards into the shadows.

"Pooja!" Ravi shouted, lunging after her, but she was gone. Maya grabbed his arm. "We need to get out of here, now!"

They scrambled towards the door, but no matter how hard they pulled, it wouldn't budge. The room seemed to pulse, as though the house itself was alive, and the air felt like it was being sucked out. Then, the floor beneath them began to shake, and from the shadows, figures began to emerge.

They weren’t human—at least, not anymore. Twisted, contorted shapes, with hollow eyes and gaping mouths, their skin blackened and stretched over their bones. They reached for Ravi and Maya with skeletal hands, whispering their names in that horrible, raspy voice.

Ravi swung wildly, trying to fend them off, but his hands passed through them as if they were smoke. Maya screamed as one of the figures grabbed her wrist, its icy touch freezing her in place. "Help me!" she cried, but Ravi couldn’t move. He was paralyzed with fear, his legs refusing to obey.

The whispers grew louder, almost unbearable now, filling their heads with unintelligible words, drowning out their thoughts. Ravi watched in horror as Maya was pulled into the darkness, her screams fading into nothingness. He was alone now, surrounded by the shadows, the whispers echoing in his ears.

He backed up against the wall, his mind racing, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "This isn’t real," he told himself. "It’s just a nightmare."

But the cold fingers that wrapped around his neck felt all too real. They squeezed, cutting off his air, dragging him into the center of the room where the shadows writhed and twisted. His vision blurred, the world growing darker and darker as the whispers filled his mind, suffocating him with their terrible words.

Then, everything stopped.

Ravi gasped for air as the grip on his neck loosened. He was lying on the floor, alone, the attic silent once more. The shadows had receded, the figures gone. For a moment, he thought it was over, that he had somehow survived.

But then he heard it—soft, almost imperceptible, like the faintest breath of wind. A whisper.

“Ravi…”

He turned towards the source of the sound and froze. Standing in the corner of the room was Pooja—or what was left of her. Her skin was pale, her eyes hollow, and her mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Her voice, when she spoke, was not her own.

“You’re one of us now.”

Before he could scream, the shadows surged forward, and the last thing Ravi felt was the cold embrace of the darkness as it swallowed him whole.

The next morning, the house stood as silent and abandoned as ever, the whispers in the attic waiting for their next visitors.