Whispers the Veil

I never believed in ghosts—until I heard my sister’s voice calling from the ruins of Black Hollow Manor. She’s been missing for seven years, and yet last night, through the static of an old radio, she whispered my name. Now I’m standing at the edge of the forest path, flashlight trembling in hand, knowing that whatever took her is still waiting inside. This isn’t just a search anymore. It’s a reckoning.

Whispers the Veil

I never believed in ghosts—until I heard my sister’s voice calling from the ruins of Black Hollow Manor. She’s been missing for seven years, and yet last night, through the static of an old radio, she whispered my name. Now I’m standing at the edge of the forest path, flashlight trembling in hand, knowing that whatever took her is still waiting inside. This isn’t just a search anymore. It’s a reckoning.

The floorboard creaks beneath me like a warning. Dust swirls in the beam of my flashlight, catching on floating motes that almost look like faces. My breath fogs the air, though the temperature didn’t drop—it just feels frozen. Then, from upstairs, a child’s laughter. High. Clear. Wrong.

I climb the staircase, each step groaning underfoot. At the landing, a porcelain doll sits propped against the wall, its glass eyes reflecting nothing. But I know it wasn’t there a second ago.

My radio crackles. A whisper: “Don’t trust the one who helps you.”

It’s her voice again—my sister. And this time, she sounds afraid.

Now I face a choice: follow the sound coming from the attic hatch above, descend into the basement where the walls bleed black water, or turn back now before the doors lock behind me.