The Whispering Room

March 1, 2025

by Dulce

Jason never liked the small guest room at the end of the hall. It was quiet during the day, but at night, it came alive with strange sounds.

The first thing he noticed was the dripping. It was always the same—two drops per second, tapping against wood. He checked for leaks, but there was no water anywhere. The sound moved around the room, sometimes near the closet, sometimes by the door.

Then came the scratching. It started at the window, like a blade dragging across the glass. One night, it sounded like someone was tearing at the window screen with a knife. Other times, he heard a faint spray, like someone misting the air behind his head.

The worst part was the feeling. The moment he woke up, the air felt thick, heavy—like someone was there, standing just out of sight. His skin crawled with chills so intense he had to leave the room a few times.

Twice, something touched him. A firm nudge on his knee. Another on his elbow. It wasn’t a spasm. It felt like someone deliberately pushing him.

The final straw was what happened at dawn. Jason woke up to the sound and feeling of something landing behind his head—like a small animal jumping onto the bed. The mattress even shifted. But when he turned around, there was nothing there.

He tried to explain it. Stress? Medication? Imagination? But deep down, he knew.

Something was in that room.

And it was getting closer.

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