Whispers Beneath the Floorboards

In the sleepy town of Hollowbrook, there was one house that had always stood out—The McAllister Estate. Tall, dilapidated, and covered in creeping ivy, the house had been abandoned for decades. For generations, the townspeople whispered about the strange happenings that occurred there before it was left to decay. No one ever ventured near it, and no one ever spoke of the McAllister family, whose tragic end remained a mystery.

Amelia, a young woman with an insatiable curiosity for the forgotten and unexplained, had recently moved to Hollowbrook. Drawn to the eerie allure of the McAllister Estate, she began asking questions. The locals would cluck their tongues and give her nervous glances, urging her to stay away. They told her of the disappearances—how people who dared enter the estate’s gates never returned. But Amelia was undeterred. The house beckoned to her in a way she couldn’t explain, like it was calling her name from deep within its walls.

One crisp autumn evening, armed with nothing but a flashlight and a camera, Amelia made her way to the McAllister Estate. The full moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow over the crumbling structure. The gates, once grand, were now rusted and sagging, barely holding together. As she pushed them open, a gust of wind howled through the trees, making the old iron creak and groan, as if warning her to turn back. But Amelia pressed on, feeling the adrenaline rush through her veins. She had to know what lay inside.

The front door, despite the years of neglect, opened easily, as if inviting her in. Stepping into the dark, musty interior, Amelia’s flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls. The house was a shell of its former self—furniture overturned, windows shattered, and dust blanketing every surface. Yet, there was a strange energy in the air, a heaviness that made her skin crawl. The house felt alive, as if it were watching her.

As she explored deeper, Amelia began to notice strange details—odd scratches on the walls, broken mirrors reflecting nothing but darkness, and faint markings that seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking directly at them. But what truly caught her attention was the sound. At first, she thought it was just the house settling, the creaks and groans of old wood. But as she ventured into the heart of the house, she realized it wasn’t just the house making noise.

There was something beneath the floorboards. Soft, slow whispers that seemed to come from deep within the ground, too faint to understand but impossible to ignore. The whispers grew louder the further she walked, until they were unmistakable—low, guttural voices that seemed to call her name. "Amelia," they rasped. "Come closer."

Fear gnawed at her, but her curiosity was stronger. She followed the whispers to the center of the house, to a large, circular room that seemed untouched by time. At the center of the room was an old wooden trapdoor. It was sealed tightly, but the air around it hummed with an unsettling energy. The whispers seemed to come from beneath it.

Unable to resist, Amelia knelt down and pried open the trapdoor. As she did, the whispers erupted into frantic, desperate cries, begging her to stop. But it was too late. She had already opened it.

Beneath the floor, there was nothing but pitch-black darkness, but as Amelia leaned closer, she saw movement. Something was shifting in the blackness—something alive. Her heart raced as she felt a cold, clammy breath on her neck. Before she could pull away, hands—pale, skeletal hands—shot out from the darkness, grabbing her wrists with unnatural strength.

Screaming, Amelia tried to pull away, but the hands tightened their grip, pulling her closer to the open trapdoor. The whispers grew louder, now filled with rage and hunger. They were no longer whispers but maddened cries, tearing at her sanity. In the flickering light of her flashlight, she could see faces—thousands of them—twisted and deformed, trapped beneath the floorboards, their eyes wide with a desperate, insatiable hunger.

As Amelia was dragged toward the darkness, she realized too late that the McAllister Estate wasn’t just a house—it was a prison. And whatever had been trapped there for so long was now free, with one goal in mind: to claim her soul and add it to their collection.

The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her was the smile of a woman standing in the shadows, her face gaunt and hollow, her eyes gleaming with malice. It was then that Amelia understood. She was not the first to fall victim to the house’s curse. She would not be the last.

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