The Whisperer - by Valerie Tan

PART IV: ECHOES OF THE PAST

Sarah stood motionless, staring at the ruins of the Wither House. The once formidable structure, now nothing more than a pile of broken wood and crumbling stone, looked pitiful under the pale light of the moon. But despite its destruction, the air still felt heavy, as if the house's dark presence lingered, watching from the shadows.

Mark coughed beside her, his voice weak. "We made it, didn't we?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. The fading whisper of her name still echoed in her head. **"Sarah..."** It hadn't felt like a goodbye—it felt like a warning.

They were alive. The house was gone. Yet the unease clung to her, growing stronger by the second.

"We should go," Sarah muttered, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground. Something was pulling at her, tugging at the edge of her consciousness, making it impossible to leave. She glanced at Mark, who was already limping back toward the truck. The night was quiet now, too quiet, and the stillness was unnerving.

She turned back to the ruins, her breath shallow. And then she saw it.

Through the settling dust and broken beams, a faint green glow pulsed from beneath the rubble. Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She squinted, hoping her mind was playing tricks on her, but no—it was real.

A single, unbroken symbol.

"Mark," she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. He didn't hear her. He was already at the truck, fumbling with his keys, desperate to escape.

Sarah's feet moved on their own, carrying her closer to the remains of the basement. As she stepped over broken glass and splintered wood, the glow grew brighter, pulsating like a heartbeat. Her mind screamed at her to turn back, to run, but she couldn't. She had to know.

The symbol was carved into the ground, larger than the others. Its sickly green light was weaker than before, but it was there—alive, still holding some piece of the house's power. She knelt down, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch it. The moment her hand hovered above the symbol, a cold wave of energy surged through her body, freezing her in place.

The whispers returned, louder this time, filling her ears like a roaring wind. **"Sarah..."**

She gasped, yanking her hand back, but the voice continued, now unmistakably familiar. It wasn't Margaret or Clara. It wasn't even Emma. It was Elias Wither.

"You think you destroyed me," the voice rasped, its tone laced with amusement. "But the house was never the source of my power."

Sarah's breath quickened, her pulse racing as the green light flickered, casting eerie shadows across the ruins. She stumbled backward, her heart pounding in her chest. Elias Wither had died over a century ago. How could he still be here?

"The house was just a vessel," the voice continued, cold and mocking. "I am eternal. As long as fear and death linger in this place, I will always return."

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Sarah's head, and she dropped to her knees, clutching her temples as the whispers grew deafening, merging into a chorus of tortured voices. She heard Margaret, Clara, Emma, and countless others, all trapped in the same nightmare. Their voices overlapped, swirling together into a single, desperate plea.

"Help us."

The pain intensified, and Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound, but it was useless. The voices were inside her now, crawling into her mind, wrapping themselves around her thoughts.

"Sarah!"

Mark's voice snapped her back to reality. He was standing at the edge of the ruins, his eyes wide with fear. "What are you doing? We have to go!"

Sarah forced herself to stand, her legs shaking. She glanced at the glowing symbol one last time, and in that moment, she understood.

It wasn't over.

The house had been destroyed, but Elias Wither's curse remained. And it wasn't just the house. It was the land, the very soil beneath their feet, tainted by the rituals he had performed all those years ago. His spirit had never left. It had simply been waiting—for someone to awaken it.

"We can't leave," Sarah said, her voice hollow.

Mark stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. "What are you talking about? The house is gone. It's over."

Sarah shook her head, her gaze locked on the glowing symbol. "It's not the house, Mark. It's Elias. He's still here. He's always been here."

Mark's face drained of color. "No. No, we destroyed it. We ended this."

Sarah took a step toward him, her eyes pleading. "We only destroyed the surface. The real curse is buried deeper. It's in the land. The rituals Elias performed—they're still binding him here. As long as this place exists, so does he."

Mark's hands trembled as he backed away, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "No, I can't—" He shook his head. "I can't do this anymore, Sarah. I'm leaving."

He turned and rushed toward the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as he sped down the dirt road, leaving Sarah alone with the ruins.

She wanted to scream for him to come back, to help her, but the words wouldn't come. Deep down, she knew he was right. They couldn't fight this. Not without understanding the full extent of the curse.

The green light flickered again, dimming as if taunting her. The whispers were quieter now, but they hadn't vanished. They were waiting, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to rise again.

Sarah closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the truth settle over her. She couldn't leave—not yet. Not until she found a way to end this, once and for all.

She turned her back on the ruins and began walking, her feet dragging through the cold dirt. The road ahead was long, but she knew what she had to do.

The curse of the Wither House wasn't over.

It had only just begun.