The Whispering Shadows

Emma had always been afraid of the dark. As a child, she swore the shadows in her room whispered to her at night. She grew up, moved away, and thought she left those fears behind—until she moved into the old house on Hollow Street.

The house was cheap, suspiciously so, but Emma ignored the warnings from the locals. “Just old superstitions,” she muttered to herself. But the first night, the shadows returned. They stretched across the walls, shifting unnaturally, and she heard it again—a faint whisper, just barely audible.

“Emma…”

Her heart pounded, but she convinced herself it was her imagination. The second night, the whispers grew louder. They called her name, murmured secrets she didn’t understand. Sleep became impossible. By the third night, the voices weren’t whispers anymore. They were screams.

“GET OUT!”

Terrified, Emma packed her bags in a frenzy. As she reached for the door, a cold hand gripped her wrist. She gasped, turning to see nothing but the yawning darkness behind her.

She never made it out.

Days later, the neighbors noticed her empty house, the windows dark, and the door ajar. The whispers had found a new home.

And they were waiting for someone new.