Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Last Whisper

The wind howled through the trees, shaking the windows of the small house nestled at the edge of the forest. Inside, Emily sat curled up on the couch, her eyes glued to the flickering television screen. The storm outside had knocked out the power twice already, and the howling gusts of wind made it impossible to think.

She'd come to the cabin for some peace and quiet, a retreat from the chaos of city life. But tonight, everything felt wrong. The house, though cozy, felt more like a prison, its creaking floors and strange sounds unsettling in the dark.

Her phone had died earlier in the evening, and there was no Wi-Fi to distract her. Emily had already read through the books she brought, tried to meditate, even attempted to sleep—but something kept her awake, something she couldn't explain.

At the edge of her hearing, a faint sound grew louder. It was a voice, soft, distant—almost like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Emily..."

She froze, her heart jumping in her chest. The voice was almost too quiet to hear, but she knew it wasn't the wind. It was a voice she had heard before. Her own mother's voice.

She stood up, her breath quickening. The house felt suddenly too big, too empty. She wasn't alone.

"Mom?" Emily called out, her voice shaking. The thought of her mother being here, in this isolated cabin, was both comforting and terrifying. Her mother had passed away two years ago, a sudden illness taking her in the dead of night. Emily had spent weeks, months, trying to come to terms with the loss.

But the voice didn't stop. It came again, louder this time, and it seemed to echo from every corner of the house.

"Emily... I'm here, come find me."

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, and she was walking toward the source of the voice, toward the back door. The voice didn't sound like it was coming from the walls anymore—it was coming from outside, just beyond the glass.

The wind had died down a little, and the storm seemed to be retreating, but the world outside was still shrouded in darkness. She hesitated, then stepped outside, the chill air biting at her skin.

The yard was empty, save for the trees that towered over her, their branches swaying gently. The voice came again, softer now, almost pleading.

"Emily... I need you... Please..."

Her heart pounded as she took a step forward, drawn toward the forest. Her feet moved on their own accord, taking her deeper into the woods, away from the safety of the cabin.

The deeper she went, the darker it became. The trees were twisted here, their gnarled branches like skeletal hands reaching out to her. The whispers continued, their sound almost soothing now, like a lullaby meant to comfort.

She didn't know why she was going so deep into the forest, only that she needed to follow the voice, needed to find out what it wanted. It felt like an urge that she couldn't control, a force that was driving her forward.

Suddenly, the whisper became more insistent.

"Emily... I'm almost here... Please, just a little further..."

Emily's pace quickened, her breath shallow. The trees seemed to close in around her as if they were guiding her toward something, pushing her further and further from reality.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—she couldn't tell. Her mind was growing foggy, her thoughts blurry and distant, until the trees parted to reveal a small clearing. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting an eerie glow across the ground.

And there, standing in the center of the clearing, was her mother.

At first, Emily couldn't believe her eyes. She blinked, and the image didn't fade. Her mother stood before her, just as she had before her death, wearing the same worn-out sweater and a smile that Emily had longed to see again.

"Mom?" Emily whispered, her voice trembling.

Her mother's smile widened, but her eyes remained cold, dark—too dark.

"You shouldn't have come," her mother said, her voice not quite right. It was hollow, distant, a sound that crawled under Emily's skin like an insect.

Emily took a step forward, her hands shaking. "I thought I heard you... I thought you called me here. You... you're alive?"

The smile on her mother's face faltered for a moment, a flicker of something unnatural crossing her features. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, her mother's mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile at all.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice growing colder with each passing word. "But not in the way you think."

The earth beneath Emily's feet seemed to shift, the soil softening, pulling her closer to the ground. She tried to pull away, but it was too late.

Her mother's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a force that made her gasp. "You shouldn't have come," her mother repeated, her tone now venomous. "I called you here to take you with me."

The darkness in her eyes deepened, swirling like a storm. And Emily realized, in a moment of horrified clarity, that it wasn't her mother standing before her. It was something else. Something that had taken her mother's form, twisted it into a grotesque mockery of the person Emily had once loved.

"Mom?" Emily gasped, her voice breaking.

Her mother—or whatever this thing was—smiled again, but it was no longer a smile of comfort. It was a grin of hunger, of malice. "You belong to me now. You'll never leave."

The ground beneath Emily's feet gave way entirely, and before she could scream, the earth opened up, swallowing her whole. She felt herself falling, plummeting deeper into the dark, into the abyss, the whispers of her mother's voice still echoing in her ears.

"Emily... it's too late."

The next morning, the storm had passed, and the sun hung low in the sky as the first rays of light crept through the trees. A search party arrived at the cabin later that day, having received a missing persons report.

They found the door ajar and a trail of footprints leading into the forest, but no sign of Emily. Just the eerie quiet of the woods, and the unmistakable, haunting whispers that seemed to carry on the wind.

The only thing they found was an old photograph, its edges torn, lying face-up on the ground.

In the picture, Emily stood with her mother, smiling wide, their arms around each other. But in the shadows behind them, barely noticeable to the naked eye, a pair of eyes watched—empty, hollow eyes that seemed to follow anyone who dared look at the photograph.

The Last Whisper had claimed another soul.