World for Lost Souls Amusements

1 - The Haunting Voice Phenomenon

he elevator slowly ascended, its faint hum blending with the tension hanging in the air, as Andrew, an experienced cameraman for one of the country's top news stations, adjusted the camera on his shoulder, preparing for the task ahead. His mind was filled with millions of doubts, and he couldn't avoid but feel the weight of that situation. He looked through the viewfinder of his camera, trying to find the focus point, but something caught his eye. The frown on his face was reflected in the polished steel doors that still retained an eighties design.

"Hey, are you okay? You look stressed," the voice of Diana, his fellow reporter, brought him out of his trance. She was gesturing with her hands, trying to capture his attention.

Andrew blinked, trying to clear his mind. "Huh? ... yeah, I'm fine..." he replied, but his voice betrayed his unease. "It's just... I don't know if we're doing the right thing, Diana." He paused, his fingers gripping the edge of the camera tightly. "Is it appropriate to bother a widow who just lost her son? It's only been a week. Maybe we should just... leave her be. She's already been through hell."

Diana watched him for a moment, weighing his words and gave a small, reassuring smile, attempting to steer the conversation to safer ground. "I know, Andrew. It's tough. But sometimes talking can be the best way to heal. Maybe we'll help her more than we think." But even she knew her response was hollow, a justification that didn't fully convince her own conscience.

The conversation faded into an uncomfortable silence as the elevator continued its ascent, each illuminated number bringing them closer to the inevitable...

When they reached the seventh floor, the elevator doors opened with a soft 'ding'. Diana leaped out quickly, as if trying to shake off the unease that clung to her. "Let's get a shot of the deceased's apartment door before Mrs. Collins answers," she instructed, her voice firmer now that she had a clear task.

Andrew brought the camera into focus and began to film: a white door, aged and yellowed with time, with a small, rusted plaque bearing the number '7B'. There was something menacing in that, the years seemed to have worked their magic on the wood, instilling it with a sense of weight and sorrow. Diana pressed the doorbell and stepped back while she waited for an answer that never materialized. She knocked again, this time with her knuckles.

"Hello? Is anyone home? Mrs. Collins, we're from Channel 13. We'd like to ask you a few questions, please open the door!" The door creaked open slowly, revealing an elderly woman. Her eyes, tired and full of pain, met Diana's. "Please, go away... leave me alone" Mrs. Collins whispered, her voice cracking as she prepared to close the door again.

Diana, using the persuasive charm that had made her stand out in her career, softened her tone. "We understand this is difficult, Mrs. Collins. But perhaps talking about it will help you unburden yourself. Just a few questions, and then we'll leave you in peace, okay?" The old woman looked at them in silence, her gaze shifting between the two as if weighing their intentions. Finally, she let out a small sigh and opened the door fully. "Alright... come in but keep it quiet."

The inside of the apartment had told a whole different story from the outside of the building. Mrs. Collins's apartment was small and snug, but there seemed to be heaviness in the air inside; painful memories that it had endured seemed soaked right into the walls. Andrew took a deep breath; the smell of dampness and dust filling his lungs, evoking the atmosphere of an old house that had seen better days.

"Can I offer you something? Tea, coffee?" Mrs. Collins asked, her voice barely above a whisper in the stillness of the place. Andrew declined with a slight shake of his head, but Diana, ever the polite one, accepted. "A little coffee would be nice, thank you."