The Whispering Shadows

The Whispering Shadows It started with whispers. At first, Emma thought it was just the wind rattling through the old Victorian house she had inherited from her grandmother. But soon, the whispers grew clearer—soft, urgent voices calling her name in the dead of night. The house was ancient, its wooden floors creaking under the weight of memories. Despite its eerie charm, something about it felt…wrong. The air was always too cold, even when the fireplace roared. Shadows moved where they shouldn’t, stretching unnaturally across the walls. One evening, while unpacking boxes in the attic, Emma found an old diary belonging to her grandmother. The last entry made her blood run cold: "They watch from the walls. They whisper secrets of the past. If you listen too long, they will take you too." A sudden gust of wind flipped the pages violently, and for a brief moment, Emma swore she saw a shadow detach itself from the corner of the room. That night, she lay in bed, heart pounding, ears straining. The whispers returned, closer than ever. She could hear her name, repeated softly, insistently. Then—a knock. Slow. Deliberate. Coming from inside her closet. Emma swallowed hard. She reached for her phone, but the battery was dead. She had to know. She had to look. With trembling hands, she stepped toward the closet and grasped the handle. As she pulled it open, the whispers stopped. Silence swallowed the room. Nothing. Just old coats and dust. Relief flooded her—until she turned to her mirror. Her reflection was smiling. She wasn’t. Then, the lights went out.