WHISPERS OF SILENCE

Chapter Two: The Voice in the Dark

           The night had always been Lila's time to breathe, to think, to dream of a life beyond the suffocating stillness of Ridgewell. But tonight, the darkness felt different. It was alive, pressing in from every corner of her small bedroom, thick and heavy like a living thing. The faint, familiar creak of the house settling should've been a comfort, but not tonight.

Not after the voice.

She sat up slowly, heart pounding in her throat, eyes wide and searching the dim room. Moonlight filtered through the threadbare curtains, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor. The wind outside had picked up, but it wasn't the wind she was afraid of. It was the voice. The one that had whispered her name, so close, so real, just moments before.

Lila strained to listen, her breath caught somewhere between panic and curiosity. The silence around her buzzed, thick with the kind of quiet that wasn't really quiet at all. Her mind raced, replaying the moment in the woods, the touch of the tree that had felt wrong, alive.

She gripped the edge of her blanket, her knuckles turning white. Was it happening again? Was the whisper just the start?

A creak echoed from the hallway.

She froze, every muscle tensing. Her bedroom door was closed, but beyond it, she could hear soft, deliberate footsteps. Slow. Careful. Moving closer.

Her mouth went dry, and she fought the urge to leap out of bed and bolt for the window. Instead, she forced herself to breathe, to think. Maybe it was Gran, checking in on her like she sometimes did in the middle of the night. Maybe Lila was being paranoid. She clung to that thought, let it comfort her, but deep down, she knew—Gran's steps weren't that light. Gran's steps didn't send cold chills crawling down her spine.

Another step. Closer.

Then... the whisper.

"Lila."

It was inside the house. She heard it, clear as a bell, slicing through the quiet like a knife. Her pulse quickened, a tremor of fear slipping through her. She swallowed hard, willing herself to move, to do something, but her body wouldn't respond. She was trapped in her own skin, frozen by the voice that was somehow... familiar.

She didn't know why, but it was as if she had heard it her whole life, lurking just out of reach, hiding in the edges of her memories.

Suddenly, the door handle rattled. The soft metallic click echoed through the room, and Lila's heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath hitched as the door slowly creaked open, just enough for the pale light of the hallway to seep in.

"Lila," the whisper came again—closer this time, almost a breath against her ear.

Her skin crawled, and she scrambled back in bed, pressing her body against the headboard, fingers digging into the wood. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. But there it was—the door, half open, and the presence of something... or someone... lingering just beyond it.

She had to move. Now.

Her feet hit the cold floor, and she stood shakily, her legs trembling beneath her. She glanced toward the window, weighing her options. Run. Get out. Go anywhere but here.

But something stopped her. A pull. As terrifying as it was, as wrong as it felt, there was a force in that whisper—a lure she couldn't resist.

Stepping cautiously toward the door, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her ears, she peered into the hallway. Empty. The house was as still as it had been before, but she could feel it. The presence. The voice. It was waiting for her.

Summoning all the courage she could, Lila moved quietly into the hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight. The house seemed different now, as if the walls had shifted in the night, drawing her into its labyrinthine depths. The darkness loomed larger, swallowing the light with every step she took.

She made her way down the narrow corridor, glancing briefly into Gran's room as she passed. The old woman was there, fast asleep, her slow, rhythmic breathing the only thing grounding Lila to reality. But even that comfort faded as she reached the staircase leading down to the front of the house.

The whispers called her there.

Each step creaked under her feet as she descended, the air growing colder the further she went. The moonlight barely reached this part of the house, and shadows curled in the corners, shifting with the slightest movement. The whisper was faint now, distant, but it guided her like a thread pulling her deeper into the unknown.

She reached the bottom step, her heart hammering as she paused. The front door stood in front of her, slightly ajar, its frame casting a thin sliver of night into the house. Beyond it, the woods loomed in the distance, the trees swaying as if beckoning her back.

And there, at the threshold, a figure.

Lila gasped, stumbling backward, her hands clutching the banister. A shadowy silhouette, barely visible in the gloom, stood just outside the door. It was tall, unnaturally still, and though its face was obscured by darkness, Lila felt its gaze lock onto her.

"Lila."

The whisper came again—this time, not a voice, but a command. It wasn't asking. It was summoning her.

She stood frozen, caught between fear and an irresistible compulsion to move closer, to step into the night and face the thing that had been calling her.

But she couldn't. She couldn't cross that line.

With a sudden burst of panic, she slammed the door shut, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands trembled as she locked it, her heart racing.

But even as she stood there, her back pressed against the door, she knew one thing for certain.

This was only the beginning. The voice had found her. And it wasn't going to stop.