Wade sat in the dim light of his bedroom, the only sounds were the clink of his broken clock and the occasional rustle of his thin curtains moving in the wind. His room was a prison now. Months, maybe years, had passed since he last saw daylight, or anyone. All he had were the characters. He'd lost track of time, no one had visited in so long.
It started with whispers. Quiet at first, just a few stray words that could've been from the radio, the TV, or maybe just his mind. Wade ignored them, at first. But then they grew louder. They weren't just whispers anymore; they were voices. Real voices. Real conversations.
The first was Sara. She was from an old TV show he'd watched years ago. He thought she was perfect, in a way. She always knew what to say. Always kind, understanding. Then one day, she spoke to him. Not from the screen, but from the corner of his room.
"I missed you, Wade."
At first, he froze. He thought it was a dream. Maybe he'd forgotten to take his meds. But there she was, standing by his window, looking at him with those soft eyes. She smiled, and he smiled back. She said nothing after that. But he could feel her presence. It became more than just a voice. It was like she lived in the room with him now.
Then came Lucy, and Emma, and a few others. They came slowly, one by one, each filling a small part of his empty world. They would talk to him. Sometimes they were sad, sometimes angry, but always there. And Wade... Wade never felt alone.
"Why do you always stay here, Wade?" Sara asked one night. "You don't have to. We'll always be with you."
He nodded, smiling in his own way. "I'm not alone anymore," he whispered, though no one could hear him but the girls.
They kept talking. They didn't leave. But then something began to change. Wade started to see things—strange things. It wasn't just the voices anymore. His room felt crowded. The floor would creak even when no one was walking. Shadows shifted, flickering at the edges of his vision. But it was all right. It didn't matter. The girls were with him.
Then, one night, something cracked.
Sara wasn't there. Not at first. But he heard her voice. Low. Hoarse.
"Wade… it's time…"
The walls around him seemed to close in. He turned quickly, eyes wide, scanning for her. But there was no sign. No more soft smile, no gentle words. Just a cold chill that started crawling up his spine.
"Sara?" he whispered, his voice thin. The girls never left.
The whispers became louder. Emma's voice sounded strange. Faint. Weak. "He's here," she said, "he's always here."
Wade reached out, but no one touched him. He had never felt more alone.
He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. His hand fumbled against the knob. Then, a sharp pain. His palm was sliced open by something invisible. He screamed. He screamed again and again, but no one answered. The voices stopped.
Days passed. Maybe weeks. His food had run out. There was no one. No girls. Not even a whisper. His room was empty.
One night, the door was open. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet as he walked through the hallway. He looked down, the same trail of blood stretching out before him. He thought he was walking away from it all.
But the hall was long. Longer than he remembered. And at the end, a door stood ajar. He reached for it, but something pulled him back.
No one came looking for him. They never found his body. The room remained just as it was, locked tight—silent.