Years ago, in a small town that barely shows up on the map, there was an old, abandoned school at the end of an overgrown road. Kids in the town always dared each other to go inside, but only a few had ever made it past the front steps. They said the school was haunted, that the doors creaked on their own and whispers echoed through the empty halls at night.
One fall evening, four friends, Anna, Mark, Jenny, and Rob, decided to take up the dare and go inside. They armed themselves with flashlights and entered, bracing for creaks and groans of the aging structure. But inside, there was only silence. No whispers, no strange sounds. It was almost too silent, as though the air itself were holding its breath.
As they moved through the empty classrooms, they found old desks overturned, dust-covered chalkboards with the last lesson scribbled on them as if the students had left in a hurry. “I think this is just an old building. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mark said, smirking.
But Anna’s light flickered, and for a split second, she thought she saw something—a shadow just beyond the beam of light. When she turned, it was gone, but she could feel something watching them. She tried to ignore it and catch up with her friends.
When they reached the basement door, it felt ice-cold. “Let’s go back,” Jenny said, feeling a chill creep up her spine. But Mark insisted, laughing off her fears, “There’s probably nothing down there.” Reluctantly, they followed him down.
The basement was even darker, the air damp and filled with the smell of mold. Anna’s flashlight kept flickering, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the floor felt sticky under their feet. As they turned a corner, they froze. Standing against the far wall was a figure, dark and still, staring straight at them. They backed up, but the figure didn’t move.
Mark took a shaky step forward, his voice quivering, “It’s…it’s just a mannequin or something.” But as he reached out, the figure’s head turned with a slow, unnatural creak, and its eyes—a pair of hollow, empty sockets—seemed to lock onto his.
Suddenly, all the flashlights went out.
They stood there in the pitch black, breathing heavily, panic creeping into their minds. That’s when the whispers started, soft at first, then louder, overlapping in a dozen voices, speaking words they couldn’t understand. Anna’s voice shook as she tried to call for help, but the whispers drowned her out, growing faster, more frantic.
Someone screamed. In the chaos, someone brushed against Anna, their hand cold as ice, gripping her arm tight. She wrenched herself free and ran, crashing into walls, feeling her way up the stairs, away from the basement. The others followed, breathless, desperate to escape.
When they burst out the front door, the whispers finally stopped. They ran all the way home, never looking back, and agreed they would never speak of that night again.
But the next morning, Anna got a message on her phone. It was from Mark, only it wasn’t a message—it was a voice note. She pressed play and listened, her blood turning to ice.
It was the same whispering they’d heard in the basement, only now it was saying her name.
