PROLOGUE

2 0 0
                                    

Prologue: The Whispers in the Walls

The house stood sentinel on the hill, a brooding silhouette against the fading light.  It had been empty for years, a monument to a past that whispered in the wind.  The locals called it "The Widow's Weep," a name that clung to it like the dust that coated its windows.  They spoke of a woman who had died within its walls, her grief a palpable presence that lingered long after her passing.  They said she was never truly gone, that her spirit remained, trapped in the house she loved and lost.

Sarah, a young woman seeking refuge from a troubled past, had heard the whispers too.  She'd dismissed them as mere superstition, a product of the town's overactive imagination.  But as she stood before the dilapidated mansion, a shiver ran down her spine.  The air felt heavy, thick with an unseen presence.  The house seemed to watch her, its darkened windows like unblinking eyes.

She had come to the Widow's Weep seeking solace, a chance to rebuild her life.  But as she stepped across the threshold, a feeling of dread washed over her.  The silence was oppressive, broken only by the creaking of the old floorboards beneath her feet.  The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and decay, and a faint, musty odor that lingered in the shadows.

The house whispered to her, its voice a low, mournful hum that seemed to resonate in her bones.  She felt a cold breath on the back of her neck, a sense of being watched, of being judged.  She knew, with a chilling certainty, that she wasn't alone.

The whispers in the walls were real, and they were waiting for her.

The phone rang, a shrill, insistent tone that cut through the silence.  Sarah flinched, her heart pounding in her chest.  She knew, with a growing sense of dread, that this was no ordinary call.  This call was coming from inside the house... and it was just the beginning.

This Call Is Coming From Inside The HouseWhere stories live. Discover now