Chapter 16: Whispers in the Void

The air in the room began to cool, and Alex's breath misted as it left his body. His heart thumped hard against the rib cage. With each heartbeat, he heard only echoes because the stillness was deafening. A dim light was coming from the journal lying open on the desk. Shadows leaped and danced off of its pages in sickly moonlight.

The words "You are not alone" seared into his brain as he gripped the journal in his hands. He made himself turn around, half-expecting to face whatever presence was behind him.

Nothing.

The room was empty except for the few scattered remnants of a life long gone. Still, the feeling that he was being watched continued, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He spun the flashlight, its beam slicing through the darkness as it revealed peeling wallpaper, cobwebs, and broken furniture.

I must be losing it," Alex whispered, but even his voice sounded foreign in the oppressive stillness.

The journal in his hands hummed faintly, and his attention was drawn to it. The pages started turning on their own, coming to rest with a sudden jolt on a single entry written in a rushed, almost frantic script.

"The truth is hidden in the whispers of this house. Do not quit until you hear them all."

But before Alex could decipher this message, a tremendous crash sounded from down below. He winced, his flashlight quivering in his hands as his gaze shifted to the door.

His instincts screamed at him to run away from this damned house and to never look back. But it was something deeper than that-curiosity, possibly, or just the faintest hope that within those walls would lie the answer he was after-which brought him forward instead.

He hesitated and carefully stepped into the hallway, the floorboard creaking ominously as if warningly beneath his feet. The crash echoed in his ears, amplified with each step as if a recording in his mind.

Alex descended the stairs, and darkness enveloped him, swallowing up the weak beam of his flashlight. He stopped in his tracks at the living room view that met his eyes.

The once-abandoned room lay in disarray. Furniture lay overturned, the floor strewn with the litter of broken glass, and heavy drapes that swayed with an unseen wind. Amidst the destruction, a figure stood at the center—a faint silhouette, yet unmistakably human.

"Who is there?" Alex called out, his voice firmer than he felt.

He did not get any response. He just stood still with his back facing him. Alex gripped the flashlight hard, taking one slow step forward.

"Hello?" he tried once more, speaking softly.

The figure moved, its movement was slow and deliberate. It turned towards him, and Alex's blood ran cold.

It was him. Or rather, it looked like him—a perfect mirror of his own face, but with hollow, lifeless eyes that seemed to pierce through him.

Alex stumbled backward, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing. The doppelgänger tilted its head, as though studying him, before it raised a hand and pointed toward the corner of the room.

Following its lead, Alex pointed his flashlight into a small wooden chest partially hid under the dust. The doppelgänger departed as suddenly as it had arisen, leaving him alone again.

He hesitated once more, still with his thumping heart racing in his breast, but that journal was quite insistent; he went straight to the small chest. Surface scratched and all weathered-looking, the locked was rusting but intact on it.

Dropping to his knees, Alex fumbled with the latch, his fingers trembling. The chest opened with a creak, revealing its contents—a bundle of old photographs, a yellowed envelope, and a small, leather-bound book that looked even older than the journal he carried.

He chose the photographs first. They were faded, but the images were unmistakable. His family, gathered in what appeared to be this very house. His younger self smiled shyly at the camera, but the adults in the pictures—his parents—wore expressions of unease, their eyes darting toward something out of frame.

"What were you hiding?" Alex whispered, setting the photos aside.

The next, he drew out the envelope, carefully pulling out a sheet of paper with spidery handwriting. It was not too long but sent shivers along his spine.

"The shadows know. Trust only the light."

A gust of wind blew through the room, scattering the photos and the note across the floor. Alex scrambled to gather them, but his attention was caught by the leather-bound book. Its cover bore an unfamiliar symbol—an intricate pattern of interlocking circles and lines, almost like a labyrinth.

He opened the book, the brittle pages crinkling in protest. The text inside was all in the same handwriting as the journal, but the language looked nothing like any he had ever seen. Symbols and glyphs took up the whole page, where cryptic pictures of shadowy figures and glowing orbs abounded.

"What is this?" Alex whispered, running his fingers along one of the symbols.

As if in response, the room grew darker, the shadows stretching and twisting toward him. The journal buzzed violently in his hand, its glow intensifying. Alex's flashlight flickered, the beam dimming until it was barely more than a faint glow.

Panic set in within him as shadows began to solidify into living, writhing shapes. A low guttural whisper filled the air, growing louder with each second that passed.

Alex hugged the journal and the leather book to his chest, his brain racing for some way out of this situation. The shadows crept closer together, their movements erratic and menacing.

Then, just as the whispers reached a deafening crescendo, a single word echoed in his mind—clear, powerful, and commanding:

"Run."

Without a second thought, Alex bolted for the staircase, his heart pounding as the shadows surged after him.