Whisper Room

said Sarah shouldn't buy a house in Granger Lane.

"It's cursed," warned the old lady at the corner shop. "No one has been there for more than a week since Miller's family disappeared."

Sarah did not believe in the curse. The price was too good to ignore, and the house was also a character character. A creak of wooden floors, brick walls covered in ivy, and towers overflowing the forest behind the site. The dream of a freelance illustrator who needs loneliness and inspiration.

The first two days were past peaceful. Sarah is unleashed, organizes her studio in the tower room, and is amazed at the peace. But on the third night, she hears it - whispers. They came from a room at the end of the hallway. The hallway had a swollen wooden door that she couldn't open.

At first, she thought it was the wind. She then thrusts her ears into the door and hears a voice. Powers the glass like breath.

"Sarah..."

She stumbled backwards. How can I know your name?

The next morning, she laughed at it. "Fatigue," she muttered, watering her face. She has been working on her latest graphic novels for a long time. Deprived sleep can explain everything.

But the door was open.

The room was small and simple - only old rocking chairs with cracked wallpaper and window views. She went in carefully. I found her skin cold. It was also weak but lazy, and had a moldy smell under the floor.

That night, the whispers returned. This time, it's big. She sat on the bed and held her breath.

"Sara...back..."

She slammed the door into the Whisper Room and pushed the chair under the handle. However, sleep was not possible. The shadows changed in the hallway. The floor smeared under an invisible step. Her light also flickered when she didn't use the kettle or microwave.

Sarah was exhausted and angry on the fifth day. She returned to her room with a flashlight and a clover. She attacked the plank. Among them was an old, frilled black and white photograph, covered in water. His faces stared: a man, a woman, two children.

In the final photo, all four looked different. Hohle's eyes. Open your mouth. As if to scream.

She dropped the photo and stepped down just to hear the chair begin to shake by herself.

"No," she whispered. "That won't happen."

She closed the room and closed the door.

But the house didn't like it.

The lights are on. Tower windows erupted, and the attic was developed every night at 2:17am

Sarah was called a local historian. "Miller Family?" She asked. "Do you live in your house?" He said. “They were found – well, fragments of them – scattered throughout the forest, never resolved. The house was empty for years. “

Tonight she spotted muddy footprints from the front door to the bed.

Then the whispers began again - only now they were everywhere.

"Sarra...stay...with us..."

She lay in the entrance and messed around with the castle. But the buttons got hot, and my palms burned. Steps echoed through the hallway.

The door to the whispering room was open again.

The interior of the chair shook more violently, hitting the ground in a burst. Her sketches - what she made in the tower was laid out in circles. All of them. Take your eyes off. The coal was closed with red ink.

A voice rose directly to my ear.

"We've done this house for you..."

Sarah cried, running to the attic. It was the only place left.

The moment she climbed onto it, the hatch attacked. Complete darkness.

And, and - the whispers returned.

Not

, but dozens. Layers above the layers of pleas, collapses, laughter. They flocked from the corners to the ventilation slots from the walls.

"Stay. Lead."

I wiped my arm a little with black.

She set the match on fire.

The walls of the attic are written in thick and dark:

* "You are the last." *

The floor creaks behind her.

She turned and looked at each other.

But his face was wrong. His smile was too wide; his eyes didn't flash. The doppelganger grabbed her with her blackened hands.

Matches have disappeared. ---

Sarah was never seen again.

A week later, the real estate listing was updated.

"A charming historic home for sale in Granger Lane. Perfect for artists and remote workers. It was recently renovated. A motivated seller. "

, new photos, new ones that weren't there yet.

A woman stood in the window of the tower, staring directly at the camera.

She looked the same as Sarah.