Following the chilling success of their first collection, Lady Eckland, Glenn Riley, and new collaborator, Bella Darkwood return to guide you through the shadowy corridors of fear with their second compendium, *Whispers In The Dark 2*. These master...
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San Francisco 1980s
Joan lugged the final box up the narrow stairwell, sweat dripping down her brow. She couldn't believe she was finally moving into her own place - a tiny studio apartment in one of the older buildings in downtown. Sure, it wasn't glamorous, with its worn carpets and outdated light fixtures, but it was affordable and close to work.
"Just you and me now," Joan muttered to the empty apartment as she set the box down with the others that contained her meager belongings.
The real estate agent had raved about the natural light and neighborhood. Joan walked over to the window and gazed out at the alleyway below, piled with overflowing dumpsters. She sighed. Well, you get what you pay for.
Shrugging it off, she started unpacking. As she stored dishes in the tiny kitchenette, she noticed the lights flickering. Weird. With the landlord’s assurances that everything had just been upgraded echoing in her mind, she made a mental note to have maintenance take a look.
Just then, a bone-chilling breeze swept through the studio. Joan shivered, confused because all the windows were closed. She chalked it up to poor insulation and thin walls. It was an old building, after all.
After several hours, Joan managed to transform the space into a cozy home. She snuggled into bed, using a sweater as a makeshift blanket. As she stared out into the darkness, shadows seemed to creep along the walls. Joan smirked at her overactive imagination and let exhaustion pull her into sleep.
The sound of screams jolted Joan awake a few hours later. Adrenaline flooded her system as she glanced around with wide, startled eyes. But the studio was empty, of course. Pressing palms against her eyes, Joan begged her brain to stop the weird dreams so she could get some rest before work tomorrow.
Over the next week, Joan settled into a routine. But each night, something disturbed her slumber. Screams and cries echoed from the walls, and ghostly shadows moved through the studio. Whenever she startled awake, petrified and panting, everything seemed normal again.
Joan found herself jumping at the slightest noises during the day. Dark circles hung under her tired eyes. Her irritable mood kept colleagues at arm’s length. Only a strong cup of coffee steadied her trembling hands.
By the second week, Joan dreaded returning to her apartment each evening. Feelings of being watched sent tingles up her spine. Cold spots spontaneously appeared. And the visions came almost nightly now. Dark, blurry scenes of violence that wrenched her from sleep. Sometimes she thought she could hear the sickening cracks of bones or choked gurgles of pain.
Exhaustion loosening her tongue, Joan finally confessed her experiences to her cubicle mate, Amy.
Amy's fingers tightened around her mug as Joan described the shadows in graphic detail. Setting down her coffee, Amy leaned in and murmured, “Joan, have you considered that these ‘visions’ might not be dreams? That apartment–” She glanced around furtively. “I’ve heard stories, rumors really, about the history of your building. No one likes to talk about it anymore, but strange things used to happen there. Unexplained deaths, even.”
