The Whispering Abyss

Darkness settled over the town like a shroud, pressing against the windows of Arthur's home. The events of the past days clung to him like cobwebs, refusing to let go. Every shadow in the corner of his vision seemed deeper, every gust of wind against the house felt like something exhaling. It was the kind of silence that didn't feel empty, but rather... occupied.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers drumming against his knee. Sleep had become a distant memory. Every time he closed his eyes, the whispers returned. Not loud. Not forceful. Just there. Lingering. Crawling under his skin like unseen insects.

He leaned back against the headboard, exhaling sharply. "Alright, you creepy bastards. If you're gonna haunt me, at least have the decency to tell me what you want."

The moment the words left his lips, a chill slithered through the room. The hairs on his arms stood on end. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how much colder the air had become.

Then, from somewhere within the walls, it responded.

"Master..."

Arthur's stomach twisted. The voice was barely more than a breath, but it carried weight, pressing against his ribs like something alive. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the instinct to shiver.

"I don't recall signing up for a fan club," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His voice carried its usual sharp edge, but his hands were tense, his fingers digging into his palms.

The voice didn't laugh. It didn't taunt. It simply whispered again, closer this time. "Come... see..."

Arthur's breath hitched. His gaze flickered to his bedroom door, which now seemed impossibly far away. The hallway beyond stretched into shadow, darker than it had any right to be. He told himself it was his imagination, that the house was the same as always, but deep down, he knew better.

Something had changed.

Something was waiting.

His legs moved before his brain could argue otherwise. Each step toward the door felt like stepping into a deeper part of an ocean, the pressure building with every inch forward. He hesitated for a heartbeat before gripping the handle, his pulse thrumming in his ears. The metal was ice against his skin.

The door creaked open.

The hallway was empty. But the air—it felt wrong. Like he had stepped into a place not meant for him. The walls, the floor, even the faint glow of the streetlamp outside—all of it seemed distorted, just slightly off. He swallowed hard and took a step forward. Then another. The floorboards beneath him groaned like they were resisting his movement.

The whisper returned, threading through the darkness. "Further... deeper..."

Arthur's lips curled into a humorless smirk. "You really need to work on your marketing. This whole 'lure the idiot into the void' routine isn't very appealing."

Still, he kept walking.

He reached the stairs, and for a moment, he swore they stretched downward longer than they should have. His grip tightened on the railing as he descended, his heart hammering against his ribs. By the time he reached the bottom, the air had thickened, like wading through invisible smoke.

Then he saw it.

The basement door. Slightly ajar.

A single breath escaped him, visible in the cold. He hadn't left it open. He knew that for a fact. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to either slam the door shut or push it open wider.

The voice sighed, like something ancient stirring from sleep. "Come... see... truth."

Arthur clenched his fists. He was tired. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of the whispers. Tired of the feeling that something had been gnawing at the edges of his reality for years, unseen and patient. If there was something waiting for him down there, then fine. Let it come.

He stepped forward, pushing the door open with a deliberate motion.

Darkness greeted him. But it wasn't empty.

It was watching.