Whispers From The Other Side

Elara's hands trembled as she pressed them against the cold wooden floor. The vision had faded, but the sensation lingered—a weight in her chest, a hollow ache in her bones. Whoever the girl was, she had suffered. And she wanted Elara to know.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the boarded-up windows, snapping Elara back to the present. She pushed herself upright, her breath still uneven.

"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath.

But how could she?

She wasn't just seeing ghosts. She was becoming them.

A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn sharply. The hallway was empty now, but the air felt wrong—charged, electric. Like she wasn't alone.

Then, a soft creak.

Elara froze.

It came from the room at the end of the hall.

She hesitated, but something inside her—curiosity, recklessness, or maybe the same force that had drawn her here—compelled her forward. The corridor stretched endlessly, each step echoing in the silence.

As she reached the door, she hesitated. The brass handle was ice-cold under her fingertips.

This is it.

She twisted the knob.

The door groaned open, revealing a room swallowed by darkness. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in the faint moonlight that slipped through a crack in the boarded window. The walls were lined with old, rotting bookshelves, their contents long forgotten.

But in the center of the room, something stood out.

A single chair.

And on it—

A doll.

Elara's breath hitched.

It was old, its porcelain face cracked, one eye missing. Its tiny dress was tattered, stained with something dark. But the worst part?

It was facing her.

Like it had been waiting.

A chill crawled up her spine. She took a step closer, every instinct telling her to turn back.

Then—

The temperature plummeted.

The air in the room grew dense, pressing against her skin like unseen hands. Her breath came out in white puffs, the sudden cold gnawing at her fingertips. The walls groaned as if the house itself was breathing.

A whisper curled around her ears, low and urgent.

"Don't let him in."

Elara whipped around, her pulse hammering.

The whisper came from right behind her.

The door slammed shut.

Elara jumped, a scream caught in her

Elara jumped, a scream caught in her throat. She spun toward the door, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The room was dead silent.

Then—

A soft tap, tap, tap echoed from behind her.

Elara turned slowly, her stomach knotting.

The doll had moved.

It wasn't sitting in the chair anymore.

It was on the floor.

Face down.

The dark stain on its dress looked fresher now, as if the fabric had just absorbed something wet.

Elara's breath turned shallow. Her feet were frozen in place, her body screaming at her to leave. But she couldn't—something held her here, something stronger than fear.

The air shifted.

The whisper came again, only this time, it wasn't a whisper.

It was a child's giggle.

Soft. Sweet. Wrong.

A sudden force slammed into Elara's chest. She staggered backward, her spine colliding with the wall. The entire room shuddered, dust pouring from the ceiling as if the house itself had come alive.

The bookshelves rattled. The floor creaked beneath her feet.

And then—

The doll's head snapped up.

Elara choked on a breath.

It wasn't just cracked porcelain anymore.

The missing eye was no longer empty.

Something dark shifted in the socket, watching her.

The laughter grew louder, echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls. Elara pressed her hands to her ears, but it didn't stop. It only grew worse, morphing into something shrill and distorted, like a child screaming underwater.

The door.

She needed to get to the door.

Elara lunged forward, but the floor suddenly wasn't solid beneath her feet. It was soft, like wet earth, like something alive. Her foot sank into it, the sensation like sinking into a grave.

A cold, skeletal hand burst from the ground, grabbing her ankle.

Elara screamed.

She kicked wildly, her hands clawing at the wooden floorboards, but the hand only tightened its grip. The room warped around her—shadows stretched, the walls bent inward as if they were being swallowed whole.

And in the midst of the chaos—

A voice.

Deep. Hollow. Hungry.

"You shouldn't have come here, Elara."

She didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to breathe.

She reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for the small rusted key she'd found in the hallway earlier. She didn't know why, but instinct screamed at her to use it.

She clutched it tight and thrust it toward the floor—toward the hand.

The second the metal touched the skeletal fingers, the world exploded into darkness.

Then—

Silence.

Elara hit the ground hard, her chest heaving. The room was still. The doll was back in its chair. The floor was solid beneath her.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Except for one thing.

The doll was now smiling.

And on the wall behind it, scrawled in red, were the words:

"He is awake."