The Whispers Inside the Walls

1. The House on Elden Street

It was just supposed to be a quick renovation job.

Mark Henson, a struggling contractor from Baltimore, had taken the offer because it paid double the usual rate. The client—an elderly woman named Mrs. Albright—had called him personally, her voice trembling through the phone.

> “It’s an old property on Elden Street, number 39. I just need the walls repaired. Nothing else. Don’t… dig too deep.”


Those last words should’ve been enough to make him decline. But he needed the money.

When he first arrived, the house looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Ivy crept up the windows, the roof sagged in the middle, and a faint smell of damp earth hung in the air. Yet, the front door was freshly painted a deep crimson, like someone had recently tried to breathe life back into the place.

2. The Whispers Begin

On the first day, everything went fine. Mark measured the walls, took photos, and noted the cracks in the foundation.

But on the second day, he heard something strange.

A faint murmur, like someone whispering from inside the walls.

He froze, holding his hammer mid-air. “Hello?”

The whisper stopped. He waited a full minute, heart pounding, then shook his head. Probably wind through the vents, he told himself. Old houses do weird things.

Later that night, when he replayed his phone’s voice memo from the day, he noticed something. In the background—beneath the scratching of his pencil—there it was again.

> “Mark…”

His name. Whispered so softly, it almost blended with the static.
The Hidden Room

By the fourth day, curiosity had turned into obsession.

The whispers came more often now—whenever he hammered, scraped, or even touched the wall. Sometimes it sounded like multiple voices, murmuring together, rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic chant.

Mark started knocking along the plaster, searching for hollow spots. Near the living room corner, he found one.

When he chipped away the plaster, a layer of rotted wood fell out, revealing a small, bricked-over doorway. He grabbed a chisel and hammer, ignoring the chill creeping up his spine.

After an hour of work, the bricks gave way, revealing a dark, narrow passage. The smell hit him instantly—something between mold and decay.

He turned on his flashlight.

At the end of the passage was a small room. No windows. No furniture. Just one thing in the center:
a chair, bolted to the floor… and a tape recorder resting on it.

The tape was still inside.

4. The Recording

Mark’s hands trembled as he pressed play.

A man’s voice came through, distorted but calm.

> “Day one: the subject is responding to auditory exposure.”
“Day five: whispers intensify at night.”
“Day ten: the voices have started saying my name.”


A sudden scream tore through the speaker, followed by silence.

Then, faintly, a whisper on the tape said:

> “Don’t stop the recording…”

Mark yanked the cassette out and stumbled backward, breathing hard. The flashlight flickered.

Something moved in the corner of the room.

At first, it looked like a shadow—but shadows don’t move toward the light.
5. The Thing in the Walls

He bolted out of the hidden room, but as he reached the living room, the walls themselves began to move.

The wallpaper rippled, bulging outward as though something inside was trying to escape. A deep groaning sound filled the house, followed by frantic whispering in dozens of voices.

> “Stay with us… Mark…”
“You opened it…”
“Now you belong here…”


He grabbed his tools, sprinted for the door—but the knob wouldn’t turn. It was ice-cold, slick like something alive. The crimson paint on the door seemed darker now, almost wet.

Behind him, the whispers grew into screams. He turned just in time to see a pale hand press against the wall from the inside, fingers stretching the wallpaper like thin skin.

He threw his body against the door, and it finally gave way.

Outside, the night air hit him like a slap. He didn’t look back.

6. Aftermath

Two days later, police arrived at 39 Elden Street after neighbors reported strange noises.

They found Mark’s van parked outside. Tools still in the back. Phone on the dashboard, recording.

Inside the house, there was no sign of struggle—just new plaster covering one wall in the living room.

When they played the phone recording, it captured only static. Then, near the end:

> “Hello? Who’s there?”
(pause)
“Mark…”

Mrs. Albright never returned. The property went back on the market, but no one stayed longer than a few nights.

Every new tenant complained about the same thing.

The whispers.
Always starting on the second day.
Always calling them by name.


---

7. The Final Tape

A year later, a local urban explorer broke into the house to make a video for his channel.

He found the hidden room, the chair, and the old tape recorder—still sitting there.
He pressed play.

The voice on the tape was new this time.

> “Day one: the subject’s name is Alex.”
“Day two: whispers intensify.”
“Day three…”



The explorer’s flashlight flickered.

> “Day three: the voices say… my name.”



The video ended there. It was uploaded automatically from his phone. The police never found Alex.

But those who’ve watched the clip say that, if you listen closely at the end, you can hear a faint voice whispering your name too.