Ethan woke up with a dull ache pressing against his skull. His limbs felt unnaturally heavy, as if gravity had increased overnight. The stale scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of his unease. He blinked against the dim glow of the monitor, its light casting restless shadows that flickered against the walls. The clock on the desk read 07:30. Morning. But the weight in his chest told him that whatever had happened last night was far from over.
His eyes drifted to the digital recorder on the desk. It sat there, small and unassuming, yet carrying something he wasn't sure he wanted to hear again. His fingers hesitated over the playback button. The memory of the whisper curled at the edges of his mind, coiling like smoke.
But he had to be sure.
He pressed play.
At first, only static filled the room—soft, shifting, like the rustle of dead leaves in the wind. Then, the whisper came, threading its way through the distortion.
"Ethan..."
The voice sent an icy ripple down his spine. It wasn't just a whisper. There was something layered beneath it, another voice buried within the first—distant, broken, almost pleading. He replayed the recording, increasing the volume, straining to pull meaning from the distortion. But the words twisted, warping at the edges, dissolving into something incomprehensible.
He exhaled sharply. He needed better equipment.
For now, there were more immediate concerns. Pushing back the fatigue, Ethan stood and made his way toward Daniel's room. The hallway was quiet, but there was an odd stillness in the air—like the house itself was holding its breath. He reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly, the faint creak breaking the silence.
Inside, Daniel was curled up beneath his blanket, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A peaceful sight. But Ethan's gaze was drawn—unbidden—to the closet. The door remained closed, yet a feeling of unease coiled in his stomach.
He stepped closer. Something felt wrong.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached for the handle. A quick twist and a push—
Nothing.
Just clothes, toys, scattered shoes. The normal clutter of a child's world.
Ethan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. Maybe he really was spiraling. Maybe exhaustion had his mind conjuring threats that didn't exist. And yet… the whisper.
He shut the closet door firmly, ensuring the latch caught this time, and turned away. Daniel remained undisturbed, lost in the depths of sleep.
As Ethan stepped into the hallway, he nearly collided with Anna.
She was already dressed, her dark hair still damp from a morning shower. A crease formed between her brows as she studied him. "You look like hell."
"Didn't sleep much," Ethan admitted, his voice rough from fatigue.
Anna crossed her arms. "Ethan… something's wrong. I know it. You've been distracted for days, barely talking to me. Is this about work?" Her voice softened. "Or is it about last night?"
Ethan searched her face. She wasn't accusing him of anything—she was worried.
For a moment, he considered telling her everything. The whisper. The distorted voice. The flickering shadows. But how could he explain something even he barely understood? He didn't want her to think he was unraveling.
So he forced a tired smile. "It's just stress. I'll be fine."
Anna didn't look convinced, but after a moment, she sighed and touched his arm gently. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
"I know." I don't deserve you.
The day passed in slow increments. Ethan went through the motions—breakfast, casual conversations, pretending he wasn't consumed by the eerie recordings and the sense of something lurking just beyond his perception. But beneath the thin veneer of normalcy, the unease festered.
By late afternoon, he made a decision.
He needed help. Someone who would believe him.
One name came to mind. Noah Graves.
Noah had been Ethan's friend in college, though their paths had diverged over the years. Ethan had pursued a structured, predictable life. Noah had delved into the strange and unexplained—paranormal investigations, forgotten myths, abandoned places steeped in whispered horrors. Back then, Ethan had thought it was just a hobby. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through old contacts until he found Noah's number. He hesitated. How was he supposed to explain this? Hey, I think something's haunting my house. Would Noah even take him seriously?
He swallowed hard and pressed call.
The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered. "Ethan? Damn, it's been a while."
Ethan exhaled. "Yeah… it has."
"You calling to catch up, or is this about something else?"
Ethan didn't bother with small talk. "I need your help."
A brief pause. Then Noah's voice dropped slightly, the tone shifting. "Tell me everything."
Ethan glanced toward the hallway—toward Daniel's room, toward the unseen presence that had already begun creeping into their lives.
And then, he began to speak.