Roads To Hell: A Horror Anthology

Part 8 - The Whisper Man

Happy Friday the 13th! Here's a little story I wrote just for the occasion. There was a huge thunderstorm at the time, so it was very atmospheric. Let me know what you think in the comments!

...

They call him the Whisper Man. They say one day he'll come for your secrets. There are a few versions of the story. The one my cousin Jenny told me when I was just kid was one of the nicer ones.

"If you tell him something really interesting, a secret he really loves, the Whisper Man will give you a gift in return," she told me, eyes bright in the semi-darkness, little flames dancing in her eyes.

There was a storm and some power lines were down, so we had no power. All the candles in the house were alight and scattered around. Our parents were out to dinner, so it was just the two of us. I don't know why she thought telling scary stories to an eight-year-old was a good idea. She was fifteen, and now that I think about, I'm pretty sure she just wanted to fuck with me.

"You can ask for anything! Fame, riches or get someone to fall in love with you. But if he doesn't like it..." she trailed off and I leant forward, eagerly.

"What? What happens then?"

"He kills you!" she announced and grabbed me at the same time. I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin, and she laughed.

"Then he cooks your brain in a pie and eats it!"

The fright she gave me was over, but the image stuck with me. I didn't want to have my brain put in pie. I quite liked it where it was, snug in my skull. But I wanted something from the Whisper Man. I actually wished I'd meet him one day. I started collecting secrets for him, writing them down and storing them in a box under my bed. Rumours, overheard conversations, my little sister's diary. They all went into the secret box. One day I'd find the very best secret, something the Whisper Man would love. Then he'd offer me a gift, anything at all. I knew just what I'd ask for.

After a while I forgot the Whisper Man, chalked it up to a silly story Jenny had made up. But my love of secrets never waned. I suppose that's why I became a P.I. after a brief stint in army intelligence. I don't like to talk about those days. A lot of shit went down. A lot of bad things happened. And I knew too much. Secrets I was never supposed to know, but curiosity got the best of me. I couldn't bear it any longer and quit so I could work for myself.

Figured it would be easy, ya know? Adultery, affairs, secret lives. Maybe some insurance fraud. Basic, every day secrets. It would almost be a normal job. I was almost forty-years-old, maybe I could even find someone to settle down with. Then came the one job that would ruin it all. Just my luck, after all, it was Friday the Thirteenth.

I was lingering at a popular speakeasy. The drinks were ridiculously expensive and the staff dressed to the nines, probably better than half their clientele who came straight from work. It was crowded with office workers blowing off steam and everyone else who wanted to be seen in the exclusive establishment. Every now and then I felt a prickle on the back of neck, like I was being watched, but decided it was just the job getting to me. Paranoia happens to everyone eventually, especially in my business.

My mark, the assistant to the local mayor, was ensconced in a shadowy corner of the VIP section with a young woman. A woman who was not his beautiful young wife. But it wasn't his jealous wife who had hired me. A group of council members who called themselves The Syndicate had asked me to investigate him. He was a property developer as well as a councilman, famous for his ridiculously ostentatious wedding, as well as his equally flamboyant mansion of a home. Then there was the Ferrari and the yacht. You see where I'm coming from.