Whispers in the Dark

I stood frozen at the door, my hand gripping the knob as the figure's shadow stretched long across the floor. The porch light behind them flickered, casting uneven glows across their face. My heart hammered in my chest.

"Elizabeth?" The voice was familiar, a woman's voice but the dim lighting made it difficult to see her face clearly.

I swallowed hard. "Who… who are you?"

The woman stepped forward, her face now partially illuminated by the glow from the hallway. My breath hitched. High cheekbones, dark brown eyes that shimmered with quiet intensity, and a small scar above her left eyebrow. She couldn't have been much older than me, but there was a weathered look to her, like someone who had lived too much life in too little time.

"I'm Ada," she said, her voice low and steady. "I need to talk to you. It's about Helen."

The name hit me like a slap. "What about her?"

Ada glanced past me, toward the hallway. "May I come in?"

Every part of me screamed to shut the door. I didn't know this woman. But the mention of Helen, something about the way she said her name stirred a deep unease within me. I hesitated, then stepped aside.

"Come in."

Ada walked in slowly, her eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation. She sat on the edge of the couch, her posture stiff. I sat across from her, the journal still clutched in my lap.

"How did you know Helen?" I asked.

Ada's gaze settled on the journal. "You found it."

"What?"

"The journal," she said, her dark eyes lifting to meet mine. "It belonged to Helen."

My grip on the journal tightened. "How do you know that?"

Ada leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "Because I gave it to her."

My breath hitched. "You knew her?"

Ada's lips twitched into a small, sad smile. "Better than most."

My mind raced. I thought I knew everything about Helen—her quiet warmth, the way she made our house feel whole again. But Ada's presence suggested there were pieces of her life that Helen had kept hidden.

"I don't understand," I said. "Why would Helen have a journal about… the river?"

Ada's expression darkened. "Because the river holds more than just water."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

Ada hesitated, her gaze shifting toward the window where the river shimmered beneath the moonlight. "Helen wasn't who you thought she was," she said finally. "She was part of something… ancient."

I shook my head. "No. Helen was my stepmother. She was"

"A protector," Ada interrupted. "A Keeper."

I stared at her, confused. "A Keeper of what?"

Ada's gaze sharpened. "Secrets."

My pulse quickened. The journal in my lap felt heavier somehow. I opened it, flipping back to the strange entry I had read earlier:

"To the Keeper of Our Souls, when the river speaks, follow its voice. The answers lie where the water meets the forest."

"What does this mean?" I asked, holding up the page.

Ada's eyes softened. "It means Helen died protecting you."

My heart stilled. "Protecting me from what?"

Ada leaned closer, her face inches from mine. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "From the darkness beneath the river."

A chill passed through me. "What darkness?"

"The river isn't just a body of water," Ada said. "It's a threshold. A gate between our world and something older. Something dangerous."

I shook my head, my mind struggling to keep up. "You're saying Helen… knew about this?"

"She didn't just know," Ada said. "She was chosen to guard it."

My thoughts spun. Helen was the most grounded, practical person I had ever known. The idea that she had been part of some ancient order, it didn't make sense.

"I don't believe you," I said.

"You don't have to," Ada said quietly. "But you need to listen."

"Why?"

Ada's gaze hardened. "Because now that Helen is gone, the gate is unprotected. And whatever lies beneath the river… it knows."

A sound broke the silence a low, distant murmur, like water rushing through stones. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't coming from outside.

It was coming from beneath the floor.

Ada's expression darkened. "It's already waking up."

The murmuring sound grew louder, a rhythmic pulsing that seemed to vibrate through my bones. I stood, the journal pressed against my chest.

"What is it?" I whispered.

Ada stood too. "It's what Helen died trying to keep sealed."

A sudden knock at the front door made both of us jump. My heart thundered in my chest.

Ada's eyes narrowed. "Don't open it."

The knock came again—louder this time.

A chill crept down my spine. My hands trembled.

A third knock.

"Elizabeth…" a voice called from the other sides

My breath hitched. My legs locked in place.

It was Helen's voice.

My mind screamed that it couldn't be possible. But it was her voice soft, calm, and steady, the way it always sounded when she called my name.

Ada grabbed my arm. "Don't open the door."

"But it's her," I whispered.

Ada's eyes flashed with urgency. "No, it's not."

The knock came again.

"Elizabeth," the voice said. "Open the door."

My hand drifted toward the knob as though pulled by an unseen force. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Ada's grip on my arm tightened. "If you open that door," she whispered, "you'll never see the light again."

My hand froze inches from the knob. My breath came in sharp gasps.

A final knock.

And then silence.

The murmuring beneath the floor faded, replaced by a deep, unnerving stillness.

Ada released my arm slowly. "It's only beginning," she said.

My chest heaved as I backed away from the door. The river outside seemed to hum with quiet menace, its currents whispering secrets I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Ada watched me closely. "You need to decide," she said softly.

"Decide what?"

"If you're willing to finish what Helen started."

I stared at her, the journal heavy in my hands. Somewhere beneath the river, something was stirring. And whatever it was, it was coming for me.