Whispers from the Weeping Walls

[Opening Scene – Camera pans across the dilapidated farmhouse at twilight]

Narrator (V.O.): “They say, in that old place on Willow Creek Road, the walls cry at night…”

Subtitles: They say, in that old place on Willow Creek Road, the walls cry at night…

Scene 1 – Arrival

Jane and her younger brother, Sam, arrive at their late aunt’s house—the only inheritance they ever received. The farmhouse stands alone in a meadow of tall, rustling grass. The sun sinks fast. Jane flips her keys; the door creaks open on a single ancient hinge. Inside, the air is musty, scented with damp wood and old memories.

Subtitles:

JANE: “Sam, help me with these boxes.”

SAM: “Sure. It feels… cold in here.”

JANE: “Just the draft. Let’s get the lights on.”

They switch all the overhead bulbs but only the hallway has power. Candlelight flickers in the parlor, left affectionately by their aunt. On the mantel stands a family photograph—a portrait of Aunt Margaret, her husband, and one person of interest: a small boy whose face is smudged and scratched out. Jane notices immediately but says nothing.

Scene 2 – First Night’s Disturbance

Late at night, candle flickers die. Jane wakes to a distant sobbing—like a child weeping. She leans over to shake Sam. He’s asleep. Still, she hears footsteps—faint but deliberate—padding across the floor above. Yet this floor is the attic; they haven’t unlocked that door.

Subtitles:

JANE (whisper): “Sam… Sam?”

[Pause]

JANE (inner thought): Why did Aunt Margaret scratch him out of the photo?

She grabs a flashlight and steps into the hallway. The beam lands on muddy footprints leading from the front door toward the attic door at the top of the stairs. The doorknob turns slowly. Jane backs away, too scared to investigate further. She locks herself in Sam’s room and prays.

Scene 3 – The Attic’s Echo

Next morning, Jane’s determined. Sam is hesitant, but he follows. They pry open the attic door. Up there, the air is stale, the floor insulation piled in corners. In the far corner, they find a bare lightbulb dangling by a frayed wire. Beneath it, a small wooden chair—too small for an adult.

On the floor are childish toys: a broken tin truck and a rag doll whose button eyes stare blankly. Jane picks up the doll. Once she touches it, she hears—just a whisper, so soft that Sam doesn’t catch it: “Help me…”

Subtitles:

SAM: “What’s that?”

JANE (quiet): “Nothing…I must’ve imagined it.”

They descend, haunted.

Scene 4 – Darkening Secrets

In the living room, Jane inspects the original family portrait using her smartphone flashlight. The smudged-out face belongs to a child—one not in any other family photos. They search online history: Aunt Margaret and her husband lost a son named Henry in the 1920s during a flu epidemic. He was never buried, they discover.

Subtitles:

JANE: “Henry… The missing boy.”

SAM: “No wonder she scratched him out.”

They decide to stay one more night to uncover the rest.

Scene 5 – Midnight Terror

At 2 a.m., Jane awakens to Sam’s bed empty. She bolts upright, heart pounding. The hallway light is on. At its far end stands Sam—eyes blank, mouth pressed against the wall, whispering inaudible words.

She rushes to him: “Sam, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. She grips his shoulders—cold as ice. He jerks forward and bolts down the hallway. Jane screams for him to stop, but then—silence.

Following his footprints, she reaches the closed attic door. She opens it. A blast of frigid air. The attic is pitch-dark, save for a soft glow near the small chair. In its beam sits Sam—but his eyes are empty holes; his lips move without sound.

Behind him, the attic wall weeps—dark rivulets of water trickling down the cracked wood, forming slender, finger-like streams.

Subtitles:

JANE (terrified): “Sam—no…”

SAM (voice hollow): “We never left…”

Scene 6 – The Haunting Unleashed

Jane snatches Sam’s shoulders and bolts downstairs, yanking him to the front door. They burst into the night air. Jane slams the door. In the doorway, the house exhales: a low, mournful moan.

They run to the car. As Jane fumbles keys, the headlights reflect in the front window—they see the rag doll pressed against the glass, staring at them with those button eyes. Aunt Margaret’s laughter erupts behind it—soft, mocking, maddening.

They scramble inside and drive off without looking back.

Scene 7 – Epilogue

Weeks later, Jane can’t sleep. She watches the old photo again. Beneath the scratched-out face, a tiny button has been sewn into the canvas—just like the doll’s eyes. And in her pocket is a single button: match, but only one.

She wakes to the sound of whispering—coming from the walls of her own apartment.

Subtitles:

JANE (voice trembling): “Henry…”

On her nightstand, the doll sits. Its button eyes glint in the lamp's glow.