In the once-idyllic Victorian home that Jasper and his wife had purchased, an insidious transformation had overtaken Jasper. What began as a dream soon morphed into a nightmarish reality. The house, with its creaking floorboards that sighed underfoot and windswept corridors that whispered through cracked window frames, began to echo with voices that only Jasper could hear. The空气中 carried the faint scent of mildew and old wood, a constant reminder of the house's ancient, watching presence.

Initially, the whispers were mere murmurs of doubt, planting seeds of suspicion about his wife's simple actions—like the misplaced keys that clinked softly when he found them under the sofa or a wallet not in its usual spot on the oak side table. It was just the two of them; who else could it be, the voices jeered, their tone slithering through his mind like cold fingers.

As the whispers grew louder and more insistent, they began to warp Jasper's perceptions, feeding him lies soaked in venom. One day, it escalated when he noticed the living room furniture slightly rearranged—enough to make him trip over the edge of an Oriental rug with its intricate patterns suddenly seeming menacing. The voices hissed of deliberate sabotage, their words sharp as broken glass.

She's trying to hurt you, Jasper. She wants you gone.

The turning point came at breakfast when Jasper started to question the integrity of his food, the taste slightly off like spoiled milk, the textures strange against his tongue. The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting long shadows that seemed to dance and twist on the chipped ceramic plate before him.

She's poisoning you, can't you see? Every bite is laced with her deceit.

"Poisoned?" he muttered under his breath, heart pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear his own voice. He pushed the plate across the table with a sudden, violent motion, watching it crash against the wall and shatter into a thousand glittering fragments that scattered across the floor like frozen tears.

She's mocking you with every meal. Act, Jasper, before it's too late.

Driven by the malignant chorus in his head, Jasper stood abruptly, the chair grinding against the wooden floor with a harsh, grating screech that made his skin crawl. "You think I'm fucking dumb?!" he roared at his wife, his voice a thunderclap of rage that shook the delicate china cupboard. "You think I won't retaliate?!"

Show her. Show her she can't control you.

Propelled by the voices, Jasper's anger became physical. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back with a force driven not just by his own strength but by the malevolent spirit that seemed to fuel him, her pained gasp music to his ears. "You want to act like a little bitch, I'll treat you like one," he snarled, his face twisted in a grimace of fury and control. The house's walls, once thought to shield them from the world, now seemed to close in, the air growing colder as if the very structure approved of his violence.