whispers in the dark

Nathaniel's hand froze on the doorknob as the first crack echoed through the silence of the room. His breath caught, heart pounding, as he slowly turned his head. He hadn't imagined it. The sound had been real. The room, once filled with the soft hum of his thoughts, was now stifled by an oppressive stillness that pressed in from every direction. The weight of the silence was unbearable, like something unseen was waiting, listening.

The shadows, those twisted shapes that had been creeping around the edges of his vision, shifted. They were more than mere darkness now. They were alive. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his mouth went dry. For a brief moment, Nathaniel was paralyzed, unable to move, his instincts screaming at him to flee, but his body refusing to obey. He could feel the cold breath of something ancient on the back of his neck, the unmistakable sense of being watched.

Then, as though it had been waiting for this moment, the growl came—a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest, deep and guttural. It wasn't just a sound; it was a presence, something monstrous, something that had no place in the world of the living. The very air around him seemed to hum with it, charged with dark energy that crackled and snapped like static electricity. Nathaniel's body tensed, every muscle screaming for him to run, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the growing shadows in front of him.

The figure began to emerge, slowly at first, but with an unsettling inevitability. Its form was a grotesque distortion of human shape, tall and elongated, its limbs unnaturally thin and stretched like rubber. The shadows wrapped around it, clinging to its body like a cloak, as though the creature itself were made of darkness. Its face—or what could be called a face—was a twisted mask, featureless except for two glowing eyes that burned with an unnatural, otherworldly light. They were the color of dying embers, flickering with an insidious malice.

Nathaniel's body was rooted to the spot, his legs shaking beneath him as he backed away, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He didn't dare take his eyes off the figure; every instinct screamed at him to turn and run, but the shadows were already pressing in, closing off any escape. He was trapped.

"Don't try to run," the figure rasped, its voice impossibly deep and warped, as though it was coming from the very depths of the earth. The words seemed to vibrate through the air, reverberating in Nathaniel's chest, vibrating his bones. "You cannot escape what's coming for you."

The words hit Nathaniel like a punch to the gut. His breath came in sharp gasps as his mind scrambled for answers. What was this thing? Was it real, or was it another hallucination, another trick of his mind? The voices, the strange messages, the vision of his brother—had they all been leading him here, to this moment, to this thing standing before him?

"I never left," the voice continued, the words dripping with malice. "I've always been with you, Nathaniel. Watching you. Waiting for the right time."

Nathaniel's throat tightened. It knows my name.

Suddenly, the shadows surged forward like a tidal wave, rushing toward him with terrifying speed. He stumbled back, heart hammering as he felt the cold breath of the darkness closing in. His eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for something, anything, that could help him. The walls seemed to pulse, their shapes shifting in the dim light as if the very room were alive, changing, warping around him. The figure loomed ever closer, its eyes never leaving him, its expression—or lack of one—an unreadable mask of darkness.

"I tried to forget," Nathaniel muttered to himself, his voice shaky, barely a whisper. His mind raced with the memories of the past—the disappearance of his brother, the unanswered questions, the silence that had followed the storm. Had it all been leading him here? Had he been drawn into this nightmare, unable to escape?

The creature stepped forward, its long, claw-like fingers reaching out, brushing against the edges of the light as it advanced. It moved with an eerie grace, each step calculated and deliberate, as though it were savoring Nathaniel's terror. The air around him grew colder still, the temperature dropping with each passing moment, until Nathaniel's breath came out in visible puffs.

"Why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?"

The figure tilted its head, its glowing eyes narrowing. There was no sympathy in them, no understanding—only a terrible, ancient hunger.

"Because you called us," it hissed, its voice sharp and mocking. "You awakened what was never meant to be. You think you can control the darkness? You are the one who is controlled now."

Nathaniel's chest tightened with panic. He could feel the weight of the creature's presence pressing down on him, pushing him further into the corner of the room. He could barely breathe, the very air thick with the malevolent energy that pulsed from the shadows. It was all closing in, tightening around him like a noose, and no matter how hard he struggled, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't escape it.

The growl came again, louder this time, reverberating through the walls. Nathaniel's vision blurred, the room spinning around him as the darkness seemed to twist and warp, folding in on itself. His head was spinning with terror and confusion, and for a brief moment, he wasn't sure where the nightmare ended and reality began.

Then, in a sudden flash of clarity, something inside him snapped. The truth—the truth he had been running from—hit him with brutal force. This wasn't just some dream. This wasn't just a trick of his mind. The darkness, the shadows, the whispers—they were real. And they had been waiting for him, just as they had been waiting for his brother. The accident, the disappearance, everything—it was all connected. The curse. The door he had opened. The family bloodline that had bound him to this fate. He had awakened something far darker than he could have ever imagined.

The whispers returned, this time louder, more frantic. The voices of those lost, those who had been taken, filled the room, swirling around him like a tempest. His brother's voice, still raw with fear and pain, cut through the noise, a desperate plea.

"Find me…"

But as the figure reached for him, its claws elongating, reaching out to tear him apart, Nathaniel did the only thing he could think of. He lunged forward, the terror in his heart propelling him to act. He grabbed the nearest object—his desk lamp—and swung it at the creature, his hands shaking with fear.

The lamp collided with the creature's form, but instead of striking solid flesh, it passed through it like it was made of smoke. The lamp shattered against the floor, and the figure's face twisted into a sneer, its mouth stretching impossibly wide as a low, rumbling laugh escaped its throat.

"You cannot fight what you have already unleashed," it growled, its eyes burning with a cruel intensity. "You will never escape."

Nathaniel's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel his legs giving out beneath him as the room seemed to close in around him. The shadows pressed against him, pulling at his skin, tugging him toward the darkness. The voices grew louder, more desperate, until they drowned out everything else.

The figure was standing directly in front of him now, its glowing eyes locking onto his, its clawed hand reaching out to claim him.

And then, everything went black.

Nathaniel awoke with a jolt, gasping for air as he sat up, his body drenched in sweat. He was back in his apartment, the room bathed in the pale light of dawn, the oppressive weight of the shadows gone. For a moment, he just sat there, breathing heavily, his mind struggling to catch up with his racing heart. The nightmare had felt so real. The creature, the shadows, his brother—they had all been there, tangible, alive.

But as he glanced around the room, everything seemed… normal. The familiar clutter of papers, the desk, the light from the city filtering through the window—nothing had changed. No monstrous figure in the doorway, no dark shape looming over him.

But the cold dread still clung to him, a gnawing sensation in his stomach that told him it hadn't been a dream. It had been real. The messages, the warnings, the dark presence that had been following him—they were all leading to this.

He grabbed his phone, hands shaking as he unlocked it, and checked for messages. There were none. But there was something else—an unfamiliar notification, one he hadn't seen before.

A new message.

It read: "You are not alone. They are already here."

His blood ran cold.

It was only just beginning.