Whispers in the Walls

The Old House

Aisha had always loved abandoned places. Something about peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards called to her curiosity. So, when her cousin dared her to spend a single night in the long-abandoned Al-Faris house at the edge of town, she accepted without hesitation.

The house had a history. People said a family once lived there, but they all vanished one night without a trace. No bodies, no answers—only whispers that neighbors swore they still heard echoing through the crumbling walls.

Armed with just a flashlight and a sleeping bag, Aisha pushed open the rusted gate. The front door moaned as though warning her not to enter, but she laughed nervously and stepped inside.

The First Whispers

The air was thick, smelling of damp wood and dust. Aisha set her flashlight on a shelf and rolled out her sleeping bag in what used to be the living room. “Easy,” she whispered to herself, though the silence pressed against her ears like a heavy weight.

Then she heard it. A soft murmur. It wasn’t the wind, wasn’t an animal—this was a voice. She froze, straining to listen.

“Get out…”

Her skin prickled. She spun with her flashlight, sweeping across cracked walls and broken furniture. Nothing. She shook her head. “Imagination,” she told herself.

But the whisper came again, this time closer.

Footsteps in the Dark

The hours dragged. Every time Aisha closed her eyes, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly above her, even though the upper floor had collapsed years ago. She tried convincing herself it was just the house settling, but the footsteps grew heavier, deliberate, pacing as though someone—or something—was watching her from above.

She grabbed her flashlight and pointed it toward the ceiling. Dust rained down, and a faint scratching began inside the wall beside her. It wasn’t rats. It was too slow, too deliberate, as if long nails were dragging across the plaster.

Her breath quickened. She pressed her ear against the wall—only to hear a deep, ragged breathing from the other side.

The Shadow Behind Her

Heart racing, Aisha backed toward the door. Her flashlight flickered, casting erratic beams over the room. That’s when she saw it—her own shadow stretched across the floor, but there was another shadow behind it.

She wasn’t alone.

The figure was tall, twisted, its head bent at an unnatural angle. The shadow moved even when she stood still.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

The reply was a guttural laugh, one that seemed to crawl inside her skull.

Escape That Never Came

Panic surged. Aisha bolted for the front door, yanking at the rusted handle. It wouldn’t budge. Behind her, the whispers turned into shrieks, overlapping voices crying, begging, and screaming all at once.

She pounded on the door until her fists ached. The house seemed to breathe, its walls expanding and contracting like lungs. The floor beneath her trembled as if the house itself was alive.

Suddenly, cold hands wrapped around her shoulders. She screamed, spinning with the flashlight—but the beam only revealed the empty room.

Empty, except for a mirror leaning against the wall.

The Final Reflection

In the cracked glass, she saw herself—not standing in the living room, but inside the wall, pressed against darkness, eyes wide in terror. And standing behind her reflection was the figure, its grin stretching wider than any human’s could.

Aisha dropped the flashlight. The beam rolled across the floor, fading as the whispers swelled. The last thing she heard before the light went out was her own voice, whispering from inside the wall:

“Get out…”