I sat in my bedroom, rocking back and forth on the floor as darkness pierced into the room, the only light being from the street lights outside that illuminated a soft glow through the window. I feel the tremors of fear coursing through my body, each pulse echoing in my chest like a distant drum.
I can hear them, whispering throughout the house. They are indistinct, a cacophony of voices that seem to rise and fall in a haunting rhythm, each syllable laced with urgency and despair. I can't make out the words, but the tone is unmistakably filled with a chilling intensity that sends shivers racing down my spine.
My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out all rational thought as the whispers crescendo, echoing off the walls and reverberating in my mind. It feels as if they are closing in, encroaching upon my very being, and I instinctively curl into myself, trying to become as small as possible. The floor beneath me feels unsteady, as if the very foundation of my reality is shifting, and the air grows thick with an oppressive weight that makes it hard to breathe.
I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to block out the encroaching darkness and the voices that seem to seep into my thoughts. But the whispers persist, relentless and insistent, growing louder with each passing second, as if they are beckoning me to listen, to understand. Panic rises within me, a primal instinct urging me to flee, yet I remain frozen, caught in the grip of fear, unable to escape the haunting chorus that fills the room.
In that moment, I realize that the whispers are not just sounds; they are a presence, a force that demands my attention. And as they swell to a deafening crescendo, I know that whatever they are trying to convey is something I cannot ignore, even as terror grips my heart and holds me captive on the floor of my room.
I grew up in an Atheist household that didn't believe in God or anything supernatural. My parents ought to believe that people who see the unbelievable are crazy. Then what does that make me? A psychopath? Am I going crazy or is this reality?
Growing up, Nana would tell stories on how my ancestors died in this very parlor. Either from old age or an incomprehensible death. Either way they all died in this house, in one specific room. The red room.
No one ought to go in there. I remember running around the hallways as a little girl and I would hear whispers and footsteps coming from in there, the only believable excuse was, nana had people over and they were in there. Of course I tried going in, and to no surprise the door was locked.
And today? That door is still locked with no key to be found. Obviously I tried prying it open, but that didn't work either. Should I just break it down?
When I first moved in, everything was fine, aside from the little things like knocking on the doors or stuff disappearing and reappearing in random places.
Things took a twist about a month ago, I would see shadows moving around the house though I'm the only one living here. I would hear whispers so loud you'd believe people were actually in the room.
I would see stuff get thrown across the floor or doors swing open. I would see people in the windows clear as day, I could give you a full description of them.
I covered my ears as the whispers grew unbearably louder, I was shaking, trembling on the floor of my bedroom. Time felt frozen and I couldn't bring myself to move, it was as if I myself was attached to the floorboards. Hours felt like minutes and I was stuck in a loophole, I wanted nothing more but to get out.
After what felt like infinity, I finally mustered up the courage to pull myself together. I took a deep breath before pushing myself off the floor and onto the bed eventually lulling off to sleep.