In the quiet town of Eldridge, where the fog never quite lifted from the streets, the Hargrove family arrived on a rainy autumn evening. Tom, a tired factory worker with rough hands and a kind smile, drove the old van up the gravel path to Willow House. His wife, Elena, sat beside him, her fingers twisting the hem of her coat. Their daughter, Lily, only twelve, pressed her face against the back window, watching the twisted branches of the willow tree scratch at the sky like bony fingers.

The house was ancient, its stone walls covered in ivy that seemed to pulse in the dim light. They had bought it cheap, too cheap, some whispered in the town pub. But times were hard, and the low price meant a fresh start. “It’s perfect,” Tom said as they unloaded boxes, his voice echoing in the empty hall. Elena nodded, though her eyes darted to the shadows in the corners.

That first night, they lit candles and ate cold sandwiches on the kitchen floor. Lily giggled as she chased crumbs across the tiles, but as the clock struck midnight, a soft sound began. It was like wind through cracks, but the windows were shut tight. “Do you hear that?” Elena asked, her fork pausing mid-air. Tom shook his head. “Just the house settling, love.” But Lily tilted her head, her small ears catching the murmur. It sounded like voices, far away and sad, whispering secrets from behind the walls.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through grimy panes, and the whispers stopped. They scrubbed and painted, turning the place into a home. Tom hammered shelves in the living room, Elena hung curtains in the bedrooms, and Lily explored the attic, where dusty trunks hid forgotten toys. But by evening, the sounds returned. This time, clearer. Words formed in the hush: Stay… stay with us…

Elena woke in the night, sweat on her brow. She sat up in bed, listening. The whispers came from the wall beside her, low and insistent, like lovers murmuring in the dark. “Tom?” she whispered, shaking him. He grumbled and rolled over. “Dreams, Elena. Go back to sleep.” But she couldn’t. The voices pulled at her, promising things she didn’t understand, warmth, safety, forever. She pressed her ear to the cold plaster, and for a moment, she felt a hand, thin and icy, brush her cheek from the other side.

Days blurred into weeks. Lily started to change first. She spent hours in her room, staring at the faded wallpaper patterned with roses that seemed to bleed red in the lamplight. “Mum, they talk to me,” she said one afternoon, her voice flat, eyes too bright. Elena knelt beside her, stroking her hair. “What do they say, darling?” Lily smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “They say you’re leaving soon. But I won’t let you.”

Tom laughed it off at dinner, blaming the move for everyone’s nerves. But that night, he heard it too. In the bathroom, as he shaved by candlelight, the electrics still faulty, the mirror fogged without steam. Letters appeared in the mist: Join us. His razor slipped, slicing his thumb. Blood dripped into the sink, and the whispers laughed, a chorus of dry, rattling glee.

Panic set in. Elena searched the town library, flipping through yellowed books on local history. Willow House had stood for two hundred years, built on the site of an old asylum where the mad had been locked away. In 1823, a fire had claimed thirty souls, their screams echoing through the stones. The walls, they said, held the echoes, trapped spirits hungry for company. “We have to leave,” Elena told Tom, her hands trembling as she packed a bag. But Lily was gone. They found her in the cellar, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, humming a tune none of them knew.

“Lily, come on,” Tom said, reaching for her. She turned, her face pale as bone, and hissed, “They’re my friends now. They promised me everything.” Her voice cracked, splitting into two, her own, and something older, deeper, like gravel underfoot. Elena screamed as Lily’s eyes rolled back, showing only whites. The girl lunged, nails raking Elena’s arm, drawing thin lines of blood that the shadows seemed to drink.

Tom grabbed Lily, pinning her arms, but she twisted like a snake, whispering words in a language long dead. The house shook then, doors slamming, floorboards groaning as if the building breathed. Plaster cracked on the walls, and faces emerged, pale, eyeless masks mouthing silent pleas. Stay… stay… The air grew thick, heavy with the smell of smoke and rot.

They dragged Lily upstairs, locking her in her room. “We call the police,” Tom gasped, dialling on his old phone. But the line was dead. Elena bandaged her arm, whispering prayers she half-remembered from childhood. Hours passed. Lily’s cries turned to laughter, then silence. Dawn broke grey and weak.

When they opened the door, Lily sat on the bed, smiling sweetly. “I’m sorry, Mum. It was just a game.” Relief flooded them. They hugged her tight, tears mixing. But as Tom turned to fetch breakfast, Lily’s hand slipped into her pocket. She pulled out a shard of glass from the attic trunk, sharp and glinting.

The whispers urged her on, a thousand voices in her head: Keep them. Forever. Elena saw the glint too late. Lily plunged the glass into Tom’s back, once, twice, with a child’s clumsy strength. He crumpled, gurgling, blood pooling like spilled ink. Elena lunged, but Lily was faster now, possessed by something ancient and vile. The shard sliced across Elena’s throat, hot pain blooming as she fell beside her husband.

Lily stood over them, chest heaving, the voices singing in triumph. The walls pulsed, absorbing the fresh screams into their endless hunger. She dropped the glass, stepping over the bodies, and walked to the window. Outside, the willow tree swayed, branches like welcoming arms.

That evening, the townsfolk noticed the van still parked, lights flickering inside. No one answered the door. Days later, when the police broke in, they found the house empty. Dust covered the furniture, as if no one had lived there for years. In Lily’s room, the wallpaper hung in strips, revealing names carved deep into the plaster, dozens of them, old and new. At the bottom, fresh and wet with blood: Lily Hargrove.

The whispers waited, patient as stone, for the next family to hear their call.

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Vocabulary Notes

Pulse (verb)
To move or beat with a strong, regular rhythm, like a heartbeat; often used to describe something alive or throbbing.
Example: “The house was ancient, its stone walls covered in ivy that seemed to pulse in the dim light.”
Similar words:
Throb: To beat or pulsate strongly, often with pain. Example: The wound began to throb after the accident.
Beat: To strike rhythmically, like a heart. Example: Her heart beat faster as the storm approached.
Surge: To rise or flow suddenly and strongly. Example: Energy surged through the crowd during the concert.

Murmur (noun)
A low, continuous sound, like a soft whisper or gentle complaint; it can suggest something indistinct or secretive.
Example: “It was like wind through cracks, but the windows were shut tight… But Lily tilted her head, her small ears catching the murmur. It sounded like voices, far away and sad, whispering secrets from behind the walls.”
Similar words:
Whisper: A very soft spoken sound, almost inaudible. Example: She spoke in a whisper so no one else could hear.
Mumble: To speak quietly and unclearly, often indistinctly. Example: He mumbled his apology under his breath.
Hum: A low, steady buzzing sound. Example: The machine made a soft hum in the background.

Insistent (adjective)
Demanding attention in a persistent and forceful way; refusing to stop or be ignored.
Example: “The whispers came from the wall beside her, low and insistent, like lovers murmuring in the dark.”
Similar words:
Persistent: Continuing firmly despite obstacles. Example: The persistent rain ruined our picnic plans.
Demanding: Requiring a lot of effort or attention. Example: She has a demanding job that keeps her busy all day.
Relentless: Unstopping and severe. Example: The relentless heat made the hike exhausting.

Possessed (adjective)
Controlled or influenced by an evil spirit or force; can also mean owned, but here it implies supernatural takeover.
Example: “Elena screamed as Lily’s eyes rolled back, showing only whites. The girl lunged… But Lily was faster now, possessed by something ancient and vile.”
Similar words:
Haunted: Affected by ghosts or evil spirits. Example: The old mansion felt haunted at night.
Overcome: Completely controlled by a strong emotion or force. Example: He was overcome by anger during the argument.
Seized: Suddenly taken control of. Example: Fear seized her as the door creaked open.

Absorbing (verb, present participle)
Taking in or soaking up something completely, like a sponge; often used for ideas, sounds, or substances.
Example: “The walls pulsed, absorbing the fresh screams into their endless hunger.”
Similar words:
Devouring: Eating or consuming greedily and completely. Example: The fire was devouring the dry wood quickly.
Soaking up: Gradually taking in liquid or information. Example: The towel was soaking up the spilled water.
Engulfing: Completely surrounding and overwhelming. Example: The fog was engulfing the entire valley.

Story written by Gemini AI.

Image created by Gemini AI.

CC Music: Drifting at 432 Hz – Unicorn Heads.

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