It was a cold autumn evening, and the wind was blowing hard through the small village of Blackwood. Emily, a 17-year-old girl, was walking home from school. She lived with her grandmother in an old house at the edge of the village. The house was big, with dark wooden walls and tall windows that rattled when the wind was strong. Emily liked her grandmother, but she didn’t like the house. It always felt… strange.
As Emily walked, she thought about the stories her friends told at school. They said the house was haunted. “The Whispering House,” they called it. People said that, years ago, a family lived there, but they disappeared one night. Nobody knew what happened. Some said they ran away. Others said something took them. Emily didn’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes, when she was alone in the house, she heard things. Soft whispers, like voices talking far away. She told herself it was just the wind.
When Emily got home, her grandmother was in the kitchen, making soup. “You’re late,” her grandmother said, smiling. “I was worried.” “Sorry, Gran,” Emily said. “I stayed to talk with friends.” “Be careful,” her grandmother said. “It gets dark early now. And this house… it’s not safe at night.” Emily laughed. “Gran, it’s just an old house. It creaks a bit, that’s all.” Her grandmother didn’t smile. “Don’t stay up too late,” she said quietly.
After dinner, Emily went to her room on the second floor. The stairs creaked under her feet, and the air felt colder as she climbed. Her room was small, with a bed, a desk, and a window that looked out at the dark forest behind the house. She sat at her desk to do her homework, but she couldn’t focus. The wind was loud, and the house groaned like it was alive.
Then she heard it. A whisper. It was soft, like someone saying her name. “Emily…” She froze. The sound came from the wall near her bed. She stood up and put her ear against the wall. Nothing. Just silence. “It’s the wind,” she told herself. But her heart was beating fast.
She tried to ignore it and went back to her homework. A few minutes later, it happened again. “Emily…” This time, it was clearer. It wasn’t the wind. It sounded like a woman’s voice, quiet and sad. Emily’s hands were shaking. She looked around the room, but nobody was there. The door was closed. The window was locked.
“Gran?” she called, hoping her grandmother was playing a trick. No answer. The house was quiet, except for the wind.
Emily didn’t want to stay in her room. She grabbed her phone and went downstairs. Her grandmother was in the living room, reading a book. “Gran, did you call me?” Emily asked. “No, dear,” her grandmother said, looking up. “Why?” “I… I heard something. Like a voice. It said my name.” Her grandmother’s face changed. She looked worried. “Go to bed, Emily. Don’t listen to it.” “Don’t listen to what?” Emily asked. “Gran, what’s going on?” Her grandmother sighed. “This house is old. It… holds memories. Sometimes, you hear things. Just ignore it. It can’t hurt you if you don’t listen.”
Emily didn’t understand. “What memories? Gran, tell me!” But her grandmother shook her head. “Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Emily went back to her room, but she couldn’t sleep. The whispers didn’t stop. They were louder now, coming from all around her. “Emily… help us…” She pulled the blanket over her head, trying to block the sound. Her phone’s light was the only thing that made her feel safe.
Around midnight, the whispers changed. They weren’t sad anymore. They sounded angry. “Why won’t you help?” the voice said. Emily’s heart raced. She wanted to run to her grandmother’s room, but she was too scared to move. The air in the room felt heavy, like someone was watching her.
Then, something moved. The door to her closet creaked open, just a little. Emily stared at it, her breath shaking. “Hello?” she whispered. No answer. The wind stopped, and the house was silent. Too silent.
She got out of bed and walked slowly to the closet. Her hand reached for the handle. She didn’t want to open it, but she had to know. She pulled the door open. Inside, it was dark. Just her clothes and boxes. Nothing strange. She laughed nervously. “See? Nothing there,” she said to herself.
But then, the whispers came back. This time, they were behind her. She turned around, but nobody was there. The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. “Leave me alone!” she shouted.
The light in her room flickered. Once. Twice. Then it went out. Emily screamed. She ran to the door, but it wouldn’t open. She pulled and pulled, but it was stuck. The whispers were everywhere now, loud and fast. “Help us! Help us!” they screamed.
Emily fell to the floor, covering her ears. She didn’t know what to do. Then, she remembered her grandmother’s words: “It can’t hurt you if you don’t listen.” She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. Her friends. School. Anything. Slowly, the whispers got quieter. The air felt lighter.
When she opened her eyes, the light was back on. The door was open. The house was silent again. She ran to her grandmother’s room, crying. “Gran, something’s wrong with this house!” she said. Her grandmother hugged her. “I know, dear. I should have told you. This house… it’s not just old. It’s alive. It holds the voices of people who lived here. They’re trapped. They want help, but they can’t leave.”
“What do they want from me?” Emily asked. “They want to be heard,” her grandmother said. “But you can’t listen. If you do, they’ll pull you in. They’ll make you one of them.”
Emily was scared. “Can we leave? Can we move somewhere else?” Her grandmother looked sad. “I’ve tried. But the house… it doesn’t let me go. It needs someone to stay.”
Emily didn’t sleep that night. She stayed in her grandmother’s room, listening to every sound. The whispers didn’t come back. But she knew they were there, waiting. The next day, she decided to learn more about the house. She went to the village library and found old newspapers. They told the story of the family that disappeared. A mother, a father, and their daughter. The daughter’s name was Emily.
That night, Emily packed a bag. She loved her grandmother, but she couldn’t stay in the house. She left a note: “Gran, I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you. I promise.” She walked out into the cold night, never looking back.
But as she left, she heard it one last time. A whisper, soft and sad. “Emily… don’t go…” She kept walking, her heart heavy. She didn’t know if she could save her grandmother. She didn’t know if the house would let her go. But she knew one thing: she would never listen to the whispers again.