The Whispering Door

The old house at the end of Hollow Street had been abandoned for decades. Or so people thought. Every night, at exactly 3:13 AM, faint whispers could be heard from behind the heavy wooden door.

Ethan and his best friend, Mark, stood outside the house, flashlights in hand.

“This is a bad idea,” Mark whispered.

Ethan grinned. “Come on, man. It’s just an old house. Urban legends are just stories.”

Mark hesitated but followed Ethan up the creaking porch steps. The front door was slightly ajar. A musty smell seeped through the cracks.

Inside, dust covered every surface, and cobwebs clung to the corners. Their footsteps echoed eerily. Ethan’s flashlight flickered.

A whisper slithered through the silence.

“Help me…”

Mark spun around. “Did you hear that?”

Ethan swallowed. “Yeah… but it’s just the wind.”

Then, a soft tap… tap… tap echoed from the second floor.

Ethan pointed his flashlight up the staircase. “Let’s check it out.”

Mark grabbed his arm. “Are you insane?”

“Scaredy-cat,” Ethan teased, shaking him off.

The stairs groaned under their weight as they ascended. At the top, a long hallway stretched into darkness. The whispers grew louder, more urgent.

“Help me… please…”

Ethan followed the voice to the last door on the left. It was slightly open. A freezing draft seeped through the gap.

“Hello?” Ethan called. No answer.

He pushed the door open.

Inside was a child’s bedroom, untouched by time. A tiny bed with a dusty pink blanket. A rocking chair facing the window, gently swaying.

Mark shivered. “We should leave.”

Ethan took a step forward. The whispers stopped.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Mark screamed and yanked at the handle. “It won’t open!”

Ethan turned toward the rocking chair. It had stopped moving.

Then, slowly, it turned to face them.

A little girl sat there, her eyes hollow and black. Her lips twisted into a grotesque smile.

“You finally came,” she whispered.

Ethan’s blood turned to ice. “W-who are you?”

The girl tilted her head. “I live here. And now…” Her voice turned guttural. “So do you.”

The walls shook. The whispers returned, now a chorus of tortured voices.

The bed rotted away before their eyes. The wallpaper peeled, revealing claw marks underneath. The air turned thick and suffocating.

Mark banged on the door. “LET US OUT!”

The girl giggled. “No one ever leaves.”

The shadows stretched, reaching for them.

Ethan grabbed Mark’s arm. “RUN!”

The floorboards cracked as unseen hands pulled at their legs. Mark screamed as he was dragged into the darkness.

“Ethan! HELP ME!”

Ethan lunged, but it was too late. Mark was gone.

The girl stood inches from him now, grinning.

“You’re mine now.”

The door swung open.

Ethan ran. Down the hall, down the stairs, through the front door—

He collapsed on the lawn, gasping for breath.

The house was silent. No whispers. No screams.

Mark was gone.

And the door… was closed again. Waiting.

Whispering.