Ghostly Whispers

Chapter 1: The Ominous Melody

It was a Sunday night when we heard it—the haunting tune drifting through our new home.* My father stopped the movie, his face etched with confusion. "What's going on here?" He searched every room, finding nothing. No little girl who could've produced that singsong voice.

Just emptiness.

The song was barely audible, yet it terrified us. You see, the sound of a child singing is only frightening when you know yours is the sole family living there.

Dad gave up searching as the singing ceased. Though it lasted only minutes, the melody continued echoing through my mind in the days that followed. I've never been able to hear that song, or watch that movie, again without feeling a chill down my spine.

There was a helplessness in the air that night, like some unseen darkness had seeped into our home when we weren't watching.

Chapter 2: The Night Terror

A few nights later, I awoke to screams. Mother's screams. Father comforting her, beckoning my sister and I into their room. "Sleep in your grandmother's room tonight," he urged. "It's the only one without windows on the second floor."

In the morning, Mother recounted her nightmare: A frantic search through the house for the ghostly singer, concluding with a scream and a pale, eyeless face grinning at her through the bedroom window.

My father had awoken to find Mother convinced the girl was still there, watching her. Waiting.

While our previous supernatural encounters were few, we'd never experienced anything like this. But now we felt certain some sinister presence had invaded our home.

My parents seemed to age a decade in just a few weeks. The mounting stress compounded Father's financial worries and kept us all on edge. We began dreading sundown, when the entity grew bold.

Chapter 3: The Intruder

It happened at dusk a few days later. Carrying my laptop to the dining room, I spotted from the corner of my eye a hunched white figure on the table. I froze as a sharp cackle broke the silence. Slowly, I made out the form of a young girl in a tattered dress, legs bent at impossible angles, smile stretching unnaturally wide. My heart hammered as she stood, rising taller and taller until hunkering down to avoid the ceiling.

Then came the urge to call for Mother. But Mother wasn't there. My sister arrived instead, causing the apparition to vanish. Still, I felt comforted having channelled Mother in my moment of primal fear.

They say ghosts can't hurt you, but this one was destroying Mother bit by bit. Her sleepless nights spent sensing its presence warped her mind and spirit until she ultimately snapped.

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

Three months had passed, and the occurrences multiplied. Objects misplaced. Strange sounds in the night. Mother's mental state deteriorating.

The apparition itself began materializing more frequently, sporting rotted skin and vacant eyes. I'll never forget arriving home one evening to the news of Mother's suicide. She had locked herself in a room to escape that thing's reach. As my sister discovered her body, I learned she had struggled to open the door against unseen forces moments earlier. And on that doleful night, our spectral tormentor laughed.

We were alone. So alone. Relatives blamed us, unaware of the true cause. Would anyone believe a spirit was responsible? Stigma around suicide muddied perceptions.

In isolation, the creature grew stronger, now demonstrating a fascination with my sister. Personal items went missing or appeared damaged. It gave us no respite.

No sanctuary.

Chapter 5: The Cleansing

Desperate, we decided to enlist the church's help. A priest and elderly woman arrived to bless the home. But the darkness lingered after they left.

Past midnight, a knock roused us from restless slumber. The woman had returned—to truly listen. Her compassion drew out our full story, ending in tearful catharsis. She promised to help however she could.

At dawn, she returned with religious tokens and an exorcist. He expressed particular concern over the suicide, troubled that some evil presence had physically influenced the event.

After purifying our home, the weary man confessed his age prevented battling our feared phantom. Nonetheless he pledged to keep trying, as many times as needed.

We enjoyed three days peace. Then it started again. Objects displaced. Strange sounds. Mother's disembodied screams piercing the silence. The infestation seemed to spread.

We have witnessed twelve entities now. Five arrived after sharing our account. Perhaps that was unwise, but we felt so alone. We needed someone to believe us. To help us.

Now my uncle lies hospitalized, having rushed recklessly into the house one harrowing night. Even he heard Mother's cries echoing from that cursed dwelling. The neighbors avoid us too, frightened by unnatural forces they cannot comprehend.

I apologize for keeping details vague, but this remains deeply painful. I appreciate you taking the time to understand our plight. Your support eases our isolation. Perhaps if I do not write again, it will mean this haunting has finally ended, and we are at peace.