Whisper in the Night|18+(hold)

Chapter 8 : Cry of the Unspoken

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Author's POV:

The hushed urgency of the phone call had been a thin thread of hope, stretched taut across miles of static. Kaira's whispered reassurances to Rishav, promises of safety that rang hollow even to her own ears, felt increasingly fragile. She'd been trying to explain, to describe the rising dread that had clung to her all evening, the unsettling silence of the isolated house. "Rishav, I don't like this... it's too quiet," she'd murmured, her voice barely audible over the crackle. "I feel like... like someone's watching."

Then, a sudden, sharp click. The world went silent.

The phone in her hand, warm just moments ago, turned cold, the screen a blank, unforgiving black. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a physical obstruction. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen agonizing minutes of a conversation that had just vanished, leaving her stranded in a horrifying quiet. Panic, cold and sharp-clawed, tore through her chest. It wasn't just a feeling; it was a physical assault. Her lungs constricted, her heart hammering against her ribs with a cadence that felt less like life and more like an impending explosion.

Then, the world outside the house exploded.

A sickening CRACK! followed by the splintering shriek of wood and the violent groan of metal. The front door. It wasn't just being opened; it was being annihilated. Footsteps—heavy, deliberate—thundered inside, each one a hammer blow to her already fragile composure.

"Kaira!" a guttural voice bellowed, echoing through the empty halls. "Where are you, little bird?"

Her hands, slick with cold sweat, were trembling so violently she could barely hold them steady. Her mind, a whirlwind of terror, screamed for her to move, to hide. Her eyes darted around the small, cluttered room. The only option, pathetic as it was, was the old, empty metal cupboard tucked into the corner. An instinct older than thought propelled her. She scrambled inside, her knees scraping against the dusty bottom, the metallic tang of old tin filling her nostrils. She pulled the flimsy door shut, the latch refusing to click properly, leaving a sliver of light, a jagged crack in the darkness.

Trapped. Enclosed. Exposed.

Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one a desperate plea. "Please, God, please," she whispered, her voice a mere puff of air against the cold metal. Tears, hot and stinging, welled in her eyes, blurring the already dim sliver of light. "Please don't let them find me. Just... just until Rishav comes. Please, just a little longer."

The footsteps grew closer, heavy boots slapping against the floorboards directly outside the cupboard. Her heart was a frantic drum, threatening to burst from her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shrink, to disappear, to become nothing more than a forgotten breath in the air.

A shadow.

Even through the tiny gap, she saw it – a hulking form silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. It paused, a grotesque, distorted shape, then slowly, terrifyingly, it turned its head. It wasn't looking at the cupboard, but the shadow cast by its own bulk stretched and warped, crawling across the metal door, betraying her.

"Well, well, well," a low rumble of a voice purred, closer now, impossibly close. "Look what we have here."

Her worst fear, every nightmare she'd ever had, solidified into brutal reality.