The Voices in the Shadows

Black Hollow had always been known for its uncanny quiet. It was the kind of place where the shadows held memories and the wind carried secrets, tucked away between a thick forest and an abandoned mine. The old Thorne Manor, a dilapidated estate on the outskirts of town, had one such shadow.

Since the infamous Thorne family disappearance, the manor had been abandoned for almost a century. The house was rumored to be cursed, a doorway to the supernatural. Except for the odd intrepid teen who would brag about spending the night inside, people shunned it. No one ever remained until dawn.

A skeptical journalist named Ethan Grayson came to Black Hollow one fateful autumn. After hearing the tales, he mocked the town's paranoia. He intended to dispel the myth and write an exposé about the way fear can engulf a community. Just as the sun was sinking, Ethan headed for Thorne Manor with a camera, a notebook, and a flashlight.

As though to greet him, the front door squeaked open with ease. The air was heavy with the smell of mildew and something... rotting, and dust danced in the flashlight's light. The crystals of the grand chandelier, which hung shakily over the foyer, were covered in filth. Ethan inhaled deeply before entering.

The first hour went by without incident. He made notes, took pictures, and even laughed at the broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. He whispered to himself, "Just an old, deserted house." Then he heard it, a murmur. Silent, almost melodic, but incomprehensible.

Ethan stopped. "Hello?" His voice reverberated through the deserted corridors. Then there was silence.

He dismissed it to the wind and shook his head. He ventured farther inside the house as he continued to explore. A dusty journal lay on an oak desk as he entered what looked like a study. Edwin Thorne was the name embossed on the leather cover.

He pulled it open. The entries date back more than a century. They were routine at first—weather patterns, business transactions—but as he turned the pages, the tone became frantic.

The voices... At night, their volume increases. Whispering threats and promises, they call out to us. Margaret refuses to eat. The kids refuse to go to sleep. Something lurks in the shadows, watching us.

Ethan felt a shiver run up his back. What appeared to be dried blood was smeared on the final entry.

It desires us. We can't respond. We must not—

He jumped when he heard a loud thud upstairs. He tightened his hold on his flashlight and swallowed hard. The floorboards might have moved. It might have been a beast.

Perhaps.

Every step he took up the opulent staircase groaned under his weight. The corridor at the top extended into the night. He scanned the hallway with his flashlight. The painted eyes of the portraits that lined the walls glinted strangely as if they were watching him.

Then there was movement.

At the end of the hall, a shadow flickered. A murmur—nearer this time. Ethan's breathing became labored. He took a picture after aiming his camera. A figure—a woman in a frayed white gown, her face hidden by tangled black hair—was illuminated by the flash.

Then she lunged.

Ethan staggered back, but the hall was once more deserted. In his ears, his pulse roared. He scrolled through the pictures on his camera. His blood turned to ice after the last one.

It was the woman, closer than he had ever seen her. However, her face was a hideous maw that was contorted into a never-ending scream.

Behind him, a clear, guttural voice whispered, Get out.

Ethan ran away. The house seemed to object to his escape, and he hardly remembered tearing down the stairs or the splintering wood underfoot. The night air felt refreshing against his perspiration-drenched skin as he rushed through the front door.

When he returned, the streetlights cast long, strange shadows, and the town was quiet. Refusing to sleep, he locked himself in his motel room.

He looked at his camera once more in the morning. Static and darkness took the place of the picture. His notes appeared to have been soaked in ink, as they were smudged and unreadable.

That day, Ethan left Black Hollow without mentioning what he had witnessed.

However, he can still hear the whispers at night, in the silent hours before sunrise.