Whispers in the Walls

Hey there. You ever been to a place that just feels wrong the second you walk in? Like the air is too thick, or the silence is too loud?

That’s exactly how 12-year-old Ben felt when his family moved into the old Mulberry Street house.

To everyone else, it was just a fixer-upper. Old wood, creaky stairs, a weird smell. Nothing major.

But Ben? He heard things.

Not voices exactly… more like whispers.

Soft. Sneaky. Secret.

And one night, they whispered his name.

The Move-In
Ben’s parents were excited. “It’s a new start!” his mom kept saying. “So much space for you and your little sister!”

But Ben wasn’t excited.

The house on Mulberry Street had been empty for over 20 years. The backyard grass was knee-high. The mailbox had cobwebs. The neighbors avoided eye contact when they drove by.

Ben noticed.

So did the dog.

Max, their usually brave golden retriever, refused to go past the front porch. He growled at the walls. At nothing.

Ben’s dad said, “He’ll get used to it.”

He didn’t.

The First Night
The first night was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ben lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The walls made clicking sounds. The pipes groaned. But that wasn’t the scary part.

It was the ticking.

Not a clock. Not a watch.

It was coming from inside the wall.

Like tiny fingers tapping the wood. Fast. Repetitive.

He tried to ignore it.

Until it stopped.

And then came the whisper:

“Ben…”

He sat up so fast he almost fell out of bed.

“Hello?!” he whispered.

Silence.

Then…

“Don’t let them see you.”

Something’s Behind the Wall
The next morning, Ben told his mom. She laughed it off.

“Maybe it’s just a dream. This house creaks like an old pirate ship!”

But that night, it happened again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Ben…”

He pressed his ear to the wall.

And he heard something breathing.

Not just one thing. Lots of things. Quiet and slow. Like they were waiting.

Ben ran to his little sister’s room. Molly was fast asleep, hugging her stuffed frog. Her wallpaper had peeled in the corners. He noticed something odd…

The wallpaper was bulging. Like something was pressing out from the inside.

He didn’t touch it.

Not yet.

The Crawlspace
The next day, while looking for the fuse box in the basement, Ben found a crawlspace. The wooden door was nailed shut.

He pried it open with a rusty crowbar.

Inside, he found:

A dusty old doll with no eyes

A cracked mirror

A child’s drawing of a stick figure standing in front of the house… with no face

On the back of the drawing was a note in shaky handwriting:

“DON’T LISTEN TO THE WALLS.”

Max Disappears
That night, Max vanished.

Ben heard scratching on the basement door and barking—desperate barking.

He ran down, calling for Max.

But all he found was the collar.

It was on the ground next to the crawlspace.

The crawlspace door was open again.

The doll was gone.

Ben didn’t sleep that night.

The Face in the Wallpaper
Molly screamed the next morning.

Ben ran to her room.

The wallpaper had changed.

The vines in the pattern now twisted into faces. Dozens of them.

Mouths wide open. Eyes missing. And in the center…

Max’s face.

Molly pointed. “Ben… the wall said it misses him.”

Ben backed away slowly.

“We need to leave,” he told their parents.

But when he tried to show them the wallpaper—it was normal.

No faces. No whispers.

Just flowers.

His parents thought he was losing it.

He was starting to think maybe they were right.

A Visitor in the Night
That night, Ben woke to the sound of giggling.

Childlike.

Coming from inside his closet.

He opened it, shaking.

Nothing.

Then he saw the hole behind the coats. A small tunnel carved into the wall.

He crawled in with a flashlight.

It led to a room.

No windows. Just drawings all over the walls.

Faces. Hands. Eyes.

And one word written over and over again:

“HUNGRY.”

He turned to leave…

And saw someone standing at the end of the tunnel.

Not a person exactly.

Not anymore.

A child-shaped figure made of shadow… with hands like spiders.

It whispered:

“You're listening now.”

The House Remembers
Ben tried to run. The figure didn’t follow.

But the walls began to breathe.

Every step he took, the floors moaned. The pipes hissed. The house was alive.

He ran to Molly’s room.

She was gone.

Her bed was neatly made. Her frog stuffed animal was in the middle.

The wallpaper now showed two children.

A boy and a girl.

Holding hands.

He screamed.

But no one came.

The Truth Beneath
Ben finally found the truth in a hidden folder in the attic.

Old newspaper clippings:

“Family Vanishes on Mulberry Street – House Left Abandoned”

“Children Missing After Strange Noises Reported”

“No Evidence of Break-In – Police Baffled”

Every family that had moved in for the past 60 years… disappeared.

The last family?

A boy named Ben and his sister Molly.

He stared at the newspaper.

Same names.

Same faces.

Same house.

The article was dated 1982.

Not Alone
Ben didn’t know what was real anymore.

He only knew one thing:

They were part of the house now.

The walls didn’t want them to leave.

Because the walls were hungry.

And they remembered every soul that ever lived there.

And now?

They were whispering again.

But this time, not just to him.

Epilogue: Still Whispering
If you ever drive past Mulberry Street, don’t slow down.

If you hear tapping in your walls at night, don’t press your ear against them.

If you hear a soft voice whisper your name when you're alone…

Don’t answer.

Because the house is still there.

And it’s always waiting.

For you.