Whispers In The Walls

It’s a Thursday with a bright, glimmering, clear sky, its six o’clock in the Jameson residence and he walks in.

“Buddy, I’m here, are you all set?” , says Michael, in his deeper, more manly voice. He was sweaty, his long brown hair ran down to his shoulders, wet, as he took of his size 38 coat. He was a 23 year old college student living with his younger brother, Philip. He’d just gotten back from his work shift, ready to relax. After a long day of packing cement, he definitely needed a shower.

“Almost ready, big bro” , Philip exclaimed, as he rushed to finish packing his last bag. It was only a weekend trip, but this had been the first time they’d taken a vacation since their parents funeral 2 years ago, in 2005. They’d rented out a cabin 57 miles out of the city where they lived, it was a while since they heard the sound of silence. This would be perfect since they’d have everything they needed for a weekend retreat, 2 rooms, 3 bathrooms, a pool, a lake overlooking the backyard, etc. The best part of it all, a beautiful setting in the woods, surrounded by nothing but animals and a bright, green landscape.

It’s six twenty in the afternoon, finally, Michael and Philip were set to leave, showered and bathed, they lock up the house and head to the car. Philip, nearly turning 18, was more than excited to leave, this was an early birthday gift, and a great opportunity to bond with his older brother.

This cabin was a rental, so of course, they had a strict set of rules to follow since the owner didn’t want any incidents. They were simple.

Do not ever , leave a door unlocked.

Do not go to the attic.

And most importantly, do not, under any circumstance, open the shed.

These were easy to follow as the Jameson brothers weren’t planning on doing much, just some fishing and hiking.

Well, everything is set. They had paid the owner in advance for the weekend, they’d packed plenty clothes, gear, along with other stuff. It would take around 4 hours to get there since traffic was a little heavy, and they’d need to go up a mountain with many turns. It was going to be a long ride.

It’s getting late, already a quarter to ten and Philip is asleep in the back. Michael is a bit tired , but of course, there isn’t anywhere to park or take a break, so he pushes on.

He receives a call from a known friend, Valerie, a classmate of his from his 4th semester class.

“You’ve reached Michael , if you’re hearing this it’s because I’m busy and can’t pick up, leave a message and I’ll get back as soon as I can, thank you”. Straight to voicemail. Having his parents die in a car crash made him think twice about texting and driving.

“Hey buddy we’re almost there, get up”, Michael says.

“I’m hungry Mike”, replies Philip. Mike was the nickname he’d given to his brother at a younger age.

He hasn’t eaten since they left due to the long stretch of road they’re on. However, they’re a few minutes away, so this isn’t much of a problem.

At a distance, Mike sees the cabin, perfectly placed in the center of everything and nothingness around, nothing but trees and more trees. They rode along the river bank until they come up by the road and pull up.

1_29

The mailbox was missing a number, but they could make out this was the correct address as they had seen it online previously. They park in the driveway and get all their things in the house.

It seemed Philip had forgotten something, as he vigorously looked through his belongings frustrated. “My inhaler, I forgot my inhaler again, dammit”.

“Don’t worry about it too much, it’ll only be a few days”. Mike seemed calm about the situation, considering his brother had serious asthma. However, they shrug it off and go on to explore the cabin. It’s luscious, spacious, and most of all, quiet. Along the walls are pictures of a family and trophies of different sports, vintage paintings, and hunting decor. There was one however, that stood out, as it seemed to be broken, hanging in the middle of all of it, atop the fireplace. It was November, and for that reason it was quite cold outside, including the fact they were at a high altitude. There was some firewood along the chimney, so Mike proceeds to light a fire and warm up the area a bit.

It’s getting toasty now, they’ve unpacked all their stuff and organized it, and now it was time to eat. The brothers had packed some food for the trip since there were no stores for miles, only a vast echo, and rows of green, followed by a whistle in the cold wind.

“I’ll prepare dinner. Just give me a bit and we can eat Phil.” He’d been going to college for culinary arts and it was time the classes took action.

Meanwhile Mike was preparing the food, Phil went on to keep exploring the rest of the place, after all, it was humongous, and it was an extravagant experience for the both of them compared to their 1 bedroom apartment. He makes his way up to the second floor where the rooms are located, along with a door to a closet along the wall, and some more paintings. The closet is a jumble of cleaning utensils and chemicals, nothing out of the ordinary. Making his way to the rooms he picks the one farther to the end of the hall, preferably since this room overlooked the river in the back.

“Dinner is ready!”. Philip heard a creak on the floor, but this cabin was older and it was a wooden floor, so this was a common occurrence. He goes down the stairs to eat.

It’s 10:20 P.M. The brothers are eating dinner and talking about which activities they’ll do in the coming days. The following morning, they’d set off to go fishing at 8 to try and catch some bass, they regularly did this with their father as kids, so it was an activity they enjoyed.

After dinner, it almost bedtime, just a quick shower and off to bed. There was no need to wait since there were multiple showers, so the brothers set off to end their night. Again, Phil heard a creak. This time it was louder, closer. Nonchalant, Phil goes on with his shower, it had been a long day and he was exhausted.

In the other room, Mike, already going to sleep, turns off his lamp and gets into bed. It’s Eleven O’clock , so if they’re expecting to have energy to go fishing early, they’ll need sleep, specially after a long drive as such.

He remembers Vanessa had called earlier that day so he gets up to leave a quick message, however, there isn’t any signal here, so he would just have to wait to be in the city once again to communicate with her. With anyone.

Philip is finally heading to bed, and again, hears another sound. He isn’t spooked easily, but he was quite curious as to where the sound came from, was it truly the wood, or was it a raccoon, a rat? What was it? He notices he didn’t search the third floor, so he goes on to do so. It shouldn’t be a problem since it’ll just be a quick look, and he won’t make much noise.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, ajar, with only a hint of moonlight shining through the narrow opening. There isn’t anything else around, only that door and a trapdoor to the attic. The room turns out to be a storage room, filled with tons of boxes and small furniture the owner must’ve left there beforehand. He’d remembered the rule to not go into the attic, but he needed to know if this was the source of the sound or if it was just a figment of his imagination.

He sneaks in, he knew Mike would immediately tell him to leave if he got caught , but Mike was heading to sleep, and Phil was very, very quiet.

“Well, it can’t be an animal, there isn’t anything here” , Phil says to himself. It was a mountain of chairs and even more paintings set over the floor, kids toys, old clothing, and other miscellaneous stuff. He notices another painting with a hole on it, he can’t tell what it is, but he ignores it as he does to the rest of the mess.

“…its not an animal” , an unrecognizable, distinct voice silently exclaims.

Phil turns around, “Mike, is that you?” , he shouts. But as he turned his light around and checked, his brother wasn’t there. There he hears again , another whisper in the room, inaudible, like a mumble, subtle.

Phil heads to the stairs again, calm and collected. “It’s been a while already, I should go to bed”, he thought. It’s 11:29 at night, and it’s late enough to be exploring. As he’s heading down the stairs he hears a thump to his left side, almost like hitting a wall. He thought he’d tipped something over, but it turns out he was wrong, there wasn’t anything in the way. It was starting to be weird, random noise, voices, thumps. But he gets into his room and heads to sleep for the night.

The rules were simple,

Don’t go in the attic, don’t let anyone else in, and never, ever leave a door unlocked.

It wasn’t very clear why these rules had been set, they were in a quiet area without any people around, neither was the owner around. However, going into the attic was a clear violation of that.

It’s still 11:29 P.M, strangely the clock had stopped in Phil’s room.

It must’ve stopped working. Again, it was an old cabin. Surely this is a normal occurrence. He’s feeling uneasy, therefore he wakes up and heads to the bathroom, perhaps the food caused a stomach ache. As he’s heading to the bathroom, it’s chilly, cold, each breath highlights the air sorrounding him. Phil, being a 5’4 , scrawny, asthmatic, nerdy 18 year old, shivers as he walks over.

It’s sufficiently quiet in the cabin to hear Mike’s snoring across the hall. The only other sound is Phil’s heartbeat, thumping under his chest. It’s wintertime, and the only heat in the house is the chimney, along with the fact it’s dark, and gloomy all over the place, specially inside.

Phil hears a noise, this time, directly behind him. He hears footsteps approaching, along with a scraping sound. A chill creeps up his spine. He freezes, and turns his head to see a hand on his shoulder.

“me” , it whispers. Phil had already heard some noises, however, this seemed to be something more than a sound, this seemed like someone else was inside the cabin. Phil turns slowly, petrified at whoever it is standing behind him, with their cold hand on him.

He can’t make out what it is. His heart is sprinting. His mind is mute. His breaths continue getting heavier. He tries to control his breathing, but he stays still, mortified as he turns. After a loud few seconds, he turns and sees nothing. He knows this isn’t Mike. This isn’t normal.

Down the hall, 2 doors down, is Mike, sleeping. Phil rushes to the room to wake him up, unfortunately, the door was locked, amd he couldn’t get it open. He tries to shout “MIKE”, but his lousy efforts fail as he stays short of breath. All he can make out is a small wheeze, followed by panting.

He begins to be freaked out, what was that hand he saw on his shoulder? Why was it cold? Why hadn’t he seen anything? Was there anyone else in the cabin? He tries to make his way to the room and lock himself in, but as he goes forward he sees the hand once again, creeping along the corner to his room, accompanied by steps. It kept getting louder, closer. Phil then begins to run down the stairs, frenetic, as he keeps hearing the thuds get closer and closer. He runs across the living room, past the kitchen, into the backyard. It still being behind him. He sees a small wooden shed along the side of the lake and makes a run for it. It’s open. He walks in.

He locks the door to the shed as he ran in. He can feel his heart hammering below his ribs, the air punching against his lungs. Phil searches for a light, a lamp, a flashlight, anything to light up the shed, after all, it’s nighttime and he can’t see anything. He finds a small lamp by the side of the window and turn it on, the shed is small, crowded, with an image Phil would never forget. All sorts of tools around, rusted hooks, knives, chains, the room painted with blood, the wood was rotten, the aroma was dead, and all he could see around were the possible ways he would die tonight.

“I’m here, Phil” , he hears it whispering along the door. His eyes dilute, are these his final moments before death? Would he die without knowing who killed him? Would he get back home to his friends? There’s a thousand thoughts flooding his mind, but he must survive. He sees a small opening in the floor, another door, for an underground opening. He goes for it, but before being able to reach he feels himself being launched backward with astonishing force. He sees the figure standing above him as he tries to get up, without a face, expressionless, only 2 eyes staring down at him as he’s grabbed by the neck.

Suddenly a loud slam thunders the room.

BANG

It’s Mike. He’d gotten woken up to the commotion, and ran down as soon as he saw the shed light was on. He’d picked up a shovel, and tried to hit it , but in doing so it breaks, and it turns to grab him. They’re both being choked by what seems to be an 8 foot tall man, except this is not a man. Mike tries to fight it off while Phil attempts to flee.

“RUN. RUN PHIL”, exclaims Mike. He keeps trying to fight off this figure, and Phil manages to release himself from its hold. However, he didn’t run away. He’d noticed as he went to open the trapdoor there were weapons below, so he heads down, and finds an old shotgun, along with a few rounds. Phil has never fired a weapon before, but he’s played enough video games to attempt to load the bullets in and fire. As he manages to do so, he runs back up toward where Mike and It were, only to find himself staring at his brothers body, hanging from the roof, with a chain and hook going through his neck.

It was nowhere to be seen. Phil had to try to escape, or try to kill it. But he had to make a decision fast, this was life or death. He runs inside to get the keys to the car, not knowing where they are. He looks everywhere only to go back up the stairs and find them by his brothers belongings in his room. He only had one chance to escape again, and this time, he couldn’t fail. Or else.

He dashes through the house, quickly making his way outside to the driveway where the car was parked. It was quite dark so he needed to get in as fast as humanely possible and leave. But as he runs toward the car, he trips over and gets lunged on the ground, dropping the shotgun and the keys. There it was, again, staring down at Phil from a distance, creeping up slowly. Hunting him. Making an effort to escape, Phil gets back up and tries to pick up the shotgun and shoot It.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three loud, consecutive shots fired into this mysterious man, Phil, cocks his shotgun once again, and is once more disappointed as he has no more slugs and it, was still standing, creeping closer to him with every blink. He’s counting his seconds, questioning his survival. He begins to remember his brother, his family, his friends back at home, all the times he’d gone fishing with his dad, the times he would sit around and wait till his mother was home to play with her. The smell of spring. The sound of the summer breeze. The scent of the ocean.

Along the concrete falls a tear, as it is standing over him, once again, for the final time. Phil gets picked up once again by It, crying, being choked, gripped, suspended 3 feet in the air held by a cold, firm hand. He’s out of breath, he begins to faint.

“No…” , he tries to speak, but he fails to form words as he gasps for air, finally , he closes his eyes. Finally, he’s out cold.

He wakes up again. In his bed.

He comes to the realization this was all a nightmare.

His heart is speeding.

His body petrified.

He turns to see his alarm.

It’s 11:29 and he hears a scream.

“RUN. RUN PHIL”.