Whispers on the Coral Row

Day Two: The Birthday Party

Around 6 p.m., we all dolled up in our nicest clothes. I got to the door first. 

Mom looked stunning in a crimson velvet dress, her hair neatly coiled in a bun, and her lips painted a bold red, matching her outfit. Josh followed shortly after. But Tim was a no-show. Worried, I headed upstairs to check on him. 

As I ascended, I heard strange noises emanating from the walls beside me. Frozen on the staircase, I strained to catch the sounds. Our family photo hung nearby, and I noticed it shake ever so slightly. Moving closer, I watched in disbelief as it swayed left, then right. A shiver raced down my spine. 

Am I hallucinating now? Rubbing my eyes, I chalked it up to exhaustion. 

I called out for Tim, finding his door ajar. Inside, I could hear him murmuring. Calling his name again, my heart raced as I realized it couldn't be Josh or Mom—they were still downstairs. Tim fell silent as I entered, and his gaze fixed on me. "What's up, Tim? We're waiting, and we're already late," I urged, scanning the room. I asked him, "Who were you talking to?" 

He glanced past me, as if waiting for a cue on what to say. After a moment, he replied, "No one, just reciting some poems we learned at school." Something felt off, but exhaustion begged me to ignore it for now.

I shut his bedroom door tight, but an odd feeling tugged at me, prompting a glance backward. To my horror, the attic door stood wide open. I distinctly remember closing that attic door. 

Who could've opened it? 

Panic flooded my mind with all sorts of ridiculous and frightening scenarios. I instructed Tim to go ahead to the party, promising to catch up later. Once he was out of sight, I approached the attic cautiously. Gripping the door, I pushed it upward, planning to deal with it later that night or the next morning. 

Just as I was about to leave, a faint voice whispered, "247#." It sent shivers down my spine. I realized then that I wasn't alone in the house. Unsure of what to do, I bolted to the front entrance, slamming it shut and locking it behind me before dashing to the neighbor's house for safety. 

I decided to keep the strange occurrence to myself for now and tried to make the most of the evening. 

The party was bustling with kids, though there were only a couple of peers my age. Tim busied himself playing with the other children, while Josh and I lingered, snacking and sipping drinks. Mom effortlessly struck up conversations and made new acquaintances—a trait I admired but struggled to emulate, being more on the introverted side myself. 

The night took an unexpected turn when two teens, Tina and Sebastian, approached us. It turns out they were siblings like Josh and me, and they seemed friendly and easygoing. Tina, the elder of the two, revealed they attended the same school as us, which brought a sense of relief—I was glad to have neighbors who were also classmates. We chatted about our hobbies and exchanged thoughts on some recent movies. 

As the clock struck past 10, signaling the end of the party, Tina and Sebastian bid us farewell. Selvia and Peter expressed their gratitude for the evening. 

As we left the house, the lively interactions kept my mind occupied. Each of us retreated to our respective rooms upon arriving home. I had the responsibility of tucking Tim into bed and carrying him upstairs as he dozed off. 

As I reached his room, the memory of the attic door flashed in my mind. I let out a sigh of relief as I glanced up to find it securely shut. For a brief moment, everything seemed normal. I carefully tucked Tim in, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead—he looked so peaceful when he slept.

I was exhausted and yearned for some rest. Just as I rose from Tim's bed, the shrill ring of the kitchen phone pierced the air. 

My heart sank. 

"Who could be calling at this hour?" I muttered to myself. I closed Tim's door behind me and made my way to the kitchen, my steps heavy with reluctance. The phone continued to ring, its sound echoing throughout the house. With trembling hands, I finally answered it. 

Silence greeted me. Then, from the other end, I heard a faint, sorrowful moan. It sent chills down my spine. 

"Hello? Who's there? Can I help you with something?" I ventured, but all I received in response were more mournful sounds. Gradually, the moans morphed into agonizing screams. 

Unable to bear it any longer, I hastily hung up the phone and sprinted back to my room. I felt like I was losing my mind—encountering one bizarre incident after another today. 

After changing into my night trousers, I collapsed onto my bed, succumbing to a deep sleep, hoping to escape the unsettling events of the day.