whispers in the wall

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The next morning, Eliza tried to shake off the feeling of dread that clung to her like a second skin. The sunlight, creeping through the heavy curtains, offered a momentary reprieve from the chill in the air. She'd barely slept, her mind racing with questions, doubts, and an overwhelming sense of unease.

Sean, as usual, was unfazed. He had already found his way into the basement, poking around in the cluttered space with a casual disregard. Eliza knew she couldn't shake the feeling alone, though—she needed answers.

"I think we should look around some more," she said, her voice unsteady as she joined him at the foot of the basement stairs.

Sean paused, turning to her with a frown. "Look around for what?"

"The house... it's just... off. Last night, I heard something. It sounded like whispers coming from the walls."

He scoffed and waved it off. "It's an old house, Eliza. You're probably just hearing things. You've been a little stressed, right?"

But Eliza didn't feel stressed, not in the way he thought. It was something deeper—something primal, almost a warning. She couldn't just ignore it. She couldn't ignore the whispers.

"I think we should check out the attic," she said, her voice a little firmer now. "Maybe there's something up there that explains all this."

Sean rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He followed her as they made their way up to the third floor. The attic door was old, creaky, and covered in dust, but the moment Eliza turned the knob, she felt a cold draft that seemed to seep right into her bones.

The stairs to the attic creaked under their weight, groaning as if the house itself was protesting. At the top, the room was dark, save for a single beam of light that filtered in through a small, dirty window. The walls were lined with boxes and old furniture, and the air smelled of decay and forgotten memories.

"Great," Sean muttered, his eyes scanning the disarray. "Another creepy, forgotten part of the house. I'm guessing no one's been up here in decades."

Eliza wasn't listening to him. She moved toward an old wooden chest tucked away in the corner, drawn to it for reasons she couldn't fully explain. She hesitated, then slowly lifted the heavy lid. Inside, she found a collection of objects—old newspapers, yellowed photographs, and strange symbols drawn on scraps of parchment. One item stood out more than the rest: an old, leather-bound diary, its edges worn from years of use. The name written in faded ink on the cover read, *Rosemary.*

Her heart skipped a beat. This was her aunt's.

She flipped open the first page, scanning the elegant handwriting. The entries were filled with ramblings about the house—cryptic notes about rituals, binding spells, and symbols she didn't recognize. The farther she read, the more her skin began to crawl. It was as if her aunt had been preparing for something. Something… dark.

The last few entries were different. Her aunt's handwriting had grown more frantic, as if her sanity was unraveling:

*"I can feel it now. It stirs in the walls, calling to me. I thought I could control it. I thought I could trap it forever. But it's too strong. It wants to be free. It will not stop until it is."*

A chill ran down Eliza's spine. She shut the diary with a sharp snap. Her mind raced—her aunt hadn't just been reclusive; she had been involved in something far more sinister.

"Eliza?" Sean's voice broke through her thoughts. "What did you find?"

She looked up, her face pale. "This isn't just an old house. My aunt was involved in… something. Something bad."

Sean raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'something bad'? You think she was just crazy?"

"No," Eliza replied, her voice trembling. "I think she tried to summon something. And it's still here."

"Guys let's stop for here now, there are still so much eerie contents to explore in the house. Follow the siblings as they unravel layers upon layers of horrific Truthin the house.

Love y'all 💖💖💖

☆Happy☆ ♡Valentine's♡ ☆Day☆

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