The Silence Between Words

Ethan inhaled sharply, gripping the phone tighter.

"I don't even know where to start," he admitted. His voice was quieter than he intended, almost as if he was afraid something—or someone—might be listening.

"Start at the beginning," Noah said, his voice steady, familiar. "What's going on?"

Ethan hesitated. How could he explain what had been happening without sounding insane? The whispers. The cold spots. The feeling of something watching from the dark corners of his home.

"Something's wrong with my house," Ethan finally said.

A short pause. Then a quiet chuckle. "That's vague as hell, man."

"I'm serious, Noah."

Noah must have heard the tension in his voice because his tone shifted. "Alright. What's happening?"

Ethan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Daniel's been hearing things. Whispers. At first, I thought it was just a kid's imagination, you know? But then… I heard them too."

Noah didn't respond immediately, but Ethan could hear his breathing through the receiver.

"That's not all," Ethan continued. His eyes flickered toward the hallway, where shadows pooled in the corners of the ceiling. "The closet in his room—it's wrong. Every time I close it, it's open again. Last night, I heard breathing inside it. I opened the door, and there was nothing there, but I felt something. Like the air was heavier. And the smell…" He shuddered at the memory of the damp, earthy scent. "It smelled like something that had been buried."

Noah let out a slow breath. "Jesus, Ethan."

Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the floor. The house was quiet now, too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt unnatural, like the walls were holding their breath.

"I know how this sounds," Ethan continued, his voice low. "But I need to know if you've ever heard of anything like this before. I remember you used to be into all that paranormal stuff."

Noah was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was measured. "Yeah, I was. But that was years ago, man. I never really believed in that shit. It was just something to read about, you know?"

Ethan closed his eyes. "I'm telling you, it's real."

Another pause. Then Noah sighed. "Okay. Let's say I believe you. You think it's… what? A ghost?"

Ethan didn't know how to answer that. A ghost? A demon? Something worse? He had no frame of reference for this. "I don't know. But it knows my name."

That finally got a reaction. "What?"

"I heard it whisper my name. Twice." Ethan forced himself to say it aloud, to make it real. "Noah, I don't know what to do."

There was a long silence. Then, finally, Noah spoke again. "I'll come over."

Ethan blinked. "Wait—what?"

"I'll come over," Noah repeated. "If this thing is real, I want to see it for myself."

Ethan's stomach twisted. As much as he wanted someone else to witness what was happening—to validate that he wasn't losing his mind—the idea of Noah stepping foot inside the house filled him with an unease he couldn't explain.

"Noah, I don't—"

"Look, man, you called me for help," Noah interrupted. "So let me help. I'll bring some gear, some stuff I used back in the day. Worst case scenario? Nothing happens, and we both have a laugh about it. Best case? We figure out what the hell is going on in your house."

Ethan hesitated. He looked toward the hallway again, at the darkness beyond Daniel's door. A strange feeling prickled at the back of his neck, like something was listening. Waiting.

Finally, he exhaled. "Alright. Come by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" Noah sounded surprised. "Why not tonight?"

Ethan glanced toward the stairs, where Anna and Daniel were fast asleep. "Because I need to be sure."

"Sure about what?"

Ethan's grip on the phone tightened.

"Sure that it's not getting stronger."

Noah didn't argue. "Fine. Tomorrow night, then. But Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let it know you're afraid."

The call ended, and Ethan was left standing in the silent kitchen, the phone still pressed to his ear long after the line went dead.

Then—

A soft creak came from the hallway.

Ethan turned his head sharply.

The hallway was empty.

But the closet door in Daniel's room was open again.

His stomach twisted. He was sure he had closed it before making the call.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath his feet. Every sound felt magnified in the silence—the hum of the refrigerator, the faint rustle of the trees outside, his own breath.

He stopped just outside Daniel's door.

The closet was wide open.

The darkness inside was thick, almost too thick, like a void swallowing all the light from the room.

He didn't want to step closer. Every part of his body screamed at him to turn around, to pretend he hadn't seen it.

But then, ever so faintly, something moved inside the closet.

Ethan's breath caught in his throat.

A slow, dragging sound, like fabric scraping against wood.

He willed himself to move, to reach for the door handle and slam it shut—but he was frozen.

And then, from the depths of the closet, a whisper—

A voice that was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It slithered through the silence, curling around his ears like a breath against his skin.

"He's waiting for you."

Ethan stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He reached for the door, gripping it tightly. His hands were shaking.

One swift motion—

He slammed it shut.

The second the latch clicked into place, the air seemed to shift. The heaviness in the room eased, if only slightly.

Ethan staggered backward, his breath ragged. His eyes remained locked on the closet door, waiting, daring it to open again.

But this time, it stayed closed.

He didn't sleep that night.

Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.