Whispers of the Soul

Horror

The Phantom's Breath

In a room draped in shadows, the stillness profound,
Where silence is heavy, and echoes resound,
I sat by the window, lost in my thought,
Unaware of the presence that darkness had brought.

The flickering candlelight danced on the wall,
Casting shapes in the corners, inviting the fall.
But then, like a whisper that chilled to the bone,
I felt a cold breath where I stood all alone.

It brushed against skin, a soft, ghostly sigh,
A caress from the depths, where the lost shadows lie.
My heart raced in rhythm, a frantic, wild beat,
As I turned to the void where the silence felt sweet.

Yet no one was there, just the stillness and gloom,
But the air held a tension, a sense of impending doom.
Each breath seemed to linger, a presence unseen,
As if the very air was woven with dreams.

The chill wrapped around me, like fingers of night,
And the hairs on my neck stood, a testament fright.
What lingered behind me? What spirit was near?
With every cold whisper, I felt it draw near.

I dared not to look, yet I felt it with might,
The warmth of my body, the cold of the night.
The pulse of the room throbbed with secrets unsaid,
As I fought against visions that danced in my head.

A shiver cascaded, a soft, spectral breath,
Each exhale a promise, a whisper of death.
It spoke of lost stories, of love turned to pain,
Of a soul left behind, forever in vain.

Then came a soft laughter, like wind through the trees,
A melody haunting, carried on a breeze.
The scent of old memories, like flowers in bloom,
A fleeting reminder of joy and of doom.

I gathered my courage, a tremor in heart,
To face what was lingering, to grasp what was art.
But when I turned slowly, the air turned to stone,
For the breath had receded, and I stood there alone.

Yet I felt the echo, the presence still near,
A phantom connection that danced with my fear.
In that empty room, where the shadows grow long,
I knew that the spirit would always belong.

So I sat in the silence, aware of its truth,
That the phantom's cold breath was a whisper of youth.
For in realms beyond sight, where the living can't tread,
The heart keeps its secrets, and the phantom's not dead.