Whispers in the Dark
Lena had always loved old houses, with their creaky floors and history-laden walls. So when she found an abandoned Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town, she couldn't resist sneaking inside. The front door groaned as she pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with dusty portraits. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her as she stepped forward, her breath catching in the heavy silence.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. The townspeople called this place the Hollow House, whispering tales of disappearances and eerie sounds in the night. But Lena never believed in ghost stories.
The air was thick with the scent of decay as she walked deeper inside. Her flashlight flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking. Somewhere above her, the floorboards creaked. The house had been abandoned for years—there shouldn’t be anyone else inside.
A chill ran down her spine. She turned a corner and found a grand staircase leading upward. Dust motes swirled in the pale moonlight seeping through broken windows. Against her better judgment, she climbed the stairs, each step groaning beneath her weight. The second floor was darker, the air heavier.
Then she heard it—a whisper.
Soft, unintelligible, like a breath against her ear. She froze, heart pounding.
"Hello?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper. No answer.
The sound came again, closer this time. Lena’s pulse quickened. She swept her flashlight across the hallway, illuminating old furniture covered in sheets. The whispering continued, layered voices murmuring just beyond her understanding.
She followed the sound, drawn toward a partially open door at the end of the hall. Inside, she found a bedroom with tattered curtains billowing in the wind. A crib sat in the corner, rocking slightly, though there was no breeze.
Lena stepped forward, her breath hitching as the whispers crescendoed into a deafening chorus. The room darkened, shadows pooling around her feet. She turned to run, but the door slammed shut behind her.
Then she saw them.
Figures, barely visible, shifting in the darkness. Their faces were hollow, eyes like empty voids. Hands reached out, grasping, desperate. Lena screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the house itself.
The next morning, the town awoke to the sound of a scream echoing through the Hollow House. But when they arrived, there was no sign of Lena—only her flashlight, flickering weakly on the dusty floor.
And if you listened closely, you could still hear the whispers in the dark.
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