The Whispering Walls

Late one stormy night, Emma found herself driving down a deserted road, seeking refuge from the rain. The storm grew fiercer, and with no other option, she pulled into the driveway of an old, abandoned mansion. Its crooked windows and decaying wood gave off an ominous air, but it was shelter.

As she entered the mansion, the door creaked shut behind her. The darkness seemed to swallow her whole. She found a candle on a dusty table and lit it, revealing faint paintings on the walls. They were portraits of people-some smiling, some crying, and others staring blankly.

As the wind howled outside, Emma heard a faint whisper. She strained to listen. It sounded like someone calling her name. Her breath quickened, and she spun around to find no one there. The voice seemed to come from the walls themselves, growing louder and more insistent.

She reached out to touch the nearest painting, one of a woman with sunken eyes. As her fingertips brushed the canvas, the painted eyes blinked. Emma stumbled back, heart pounding, as the portraits on every wall began whispering in unison, their voices intertwining in a chaotic symphony of pleading and laughter.

The whispers grew louder, and suddenly the mansion felt alive, the walls pulsing and closing in. She ran for the door, but it wouldn't budge. The whispers turned into screams, echoing through the halls. She covered her ears and shouted for them to stop.

The candle flickered out, plunging her into darkness. And then...silence.

The next morning, a passerby found the old mansion unchanged, except for one new addition. A fresh portrait hung on the wall inside-a painting of Emma, her eyes wide with terror, forever trapped among the whispering walls.