The Whisper

The ceiling above him was cracked.

Ron lay on his bed, staring at it, counting the fractures as though they were roads on a map. Each crack a branch, leading nowhere. His room was dim, the curtains drawn, a single shaft of light sneaking through to fall across his desk. His laptop sat there, screen still on.

The glow bathed the clutter around it—textbooks, empty snack wrappers, a half-drunk glass of water.

From the speakers, the voice of a news anchor droned on, filling the silence.

"—authorities are still investigating reports of strange phenomena across the city. Witnesses describe… shadowy figures… indistinct shapes at the edge of vision…"

Ron blinked slowly. He didn't remember clicking the video. Maybe it had autoplayed.

Maybe it didn't matter.

"…some calling it the 'Nightmareric Entity,' though officials have not confirmed any credible evidence…"

The footage cut to shaky cellphone video: a grainy image of a dark silhouette standing on a rooftop, unmoving against the city lights. People screamed in the background.

The image fuzzed, glitched, then cut back to the anchor's serious face.

"…no injuries have been reported, but psychologists warn of a collective hallucination effect. Schools and public events remain open…"

A chair scraped loudly outside his door.

Then, voices.

"I'm telling you, he's wasting his life."

His mother.

"He's just… struggling. High school's hard."

His father, more tired than angry.

"Struggling? He's failing! He was supposed to be studying. I caught him fighting today, fighting! With those delinquent boys!"

Ron's chest tightened. He sat up slowly, the laptop's glow painting his face pale.

"I didn't raise him for this. I told him, didn't I? He's going to be a doctor. He's not going to ruin his future."

"He's… quiet lately." His father's voice softened. "Withdrawn."

"Then push him harder! He's being lazy. Sleeping in his room all day. Look at his grades. Look at him!"

A knock on his door.

"Ron." His mother's voice, sharp and clipped. "Come out here."

Ron swallowed. His gaze flicked back to the laptop screen, now paused on the blurry rooftop figure.

"…Nightmareric Entity…" he whispered.

Was it real? Or a hoax?

Another knock. Louder.

"Ron!"

He closed the laptop. The darkness deepened.

"Leave him alone tonight," his father said quietly outside. "Let him be."

A sigh. Footsteps retreating.

Silence returned.

Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His fists still ached from the fight. His stomach bore dull bruises.

He wasn't sure if he'd won anything—or just delayed the inevitable.

He stood, walking to the window. Pushed the curtain aside.

Outside, the city glimmered. Neon signs. Distant car horns. People moving beneath streetlights like ants.

He stared upward.

Above the buildings, above the glow—dark clouds gathered.

A low hum seemed to fill the air, so faint it felt imagined.

His reflection stared back from the glass: messy hair, tired eyes, a thin line of dried blood beneath his nose.

Is this what I'll always be?

A knock at the window startled him.

His heart jumped.

But there was nothing.

Just a branch brushing the glass.

He exhaled shakily. Let the curtain fall.

Behind him, the laptop pinged.

A new video auto-played.

He turned.

A different news anchor now. Hushed tone. Urgent headline.

"Breaking update: new reports coming in from multiple districts. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen… doorways? Portals? Openings in midair? Authorities urge calm…"

Another shaky video clip: a dark alley, a faint glowing circle floating above the ground, swirling with black mist.

A woman's voice screamed off-camera.

The anchor's voice cut in:

"…many are speculating links to folklore, urban myths. No official statement yet. However—"

The video glitched.

A deep, distorted sound filled the speakers.

Like metal grinding against metal.

Ron frowned, stepping closer.

"—Ron."

He froze.

It hadn't been his mother's voice.

It wasn't the anchor.

It came from the laptop.

"…Ron."

A whisper, crawling through the speakers.

"Join us."

The screen flickered.

Static.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

And then—silence.

The video resumed normally, the anchor oblivious.

Ron stared. His breath came fast.

A chill crawled down his spine.

He shut the laptop again.

The silence of his room pressed in.

Outside the door, his parents' voices had quieted.

Only the low hum of the city remained.

Ron climbed back onto his bed, curling onto his side.

What's happening to me?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

But the whisper echoed in his mind, over and over.

"…Ron…"

He didn't know if he dreamed it.

But as he drifted toward uneasy sleep, the cracks inside him widened.

And far above the city, behind the dark clouds—something watched.

Something waiting.

The chains creaked.

The cage trembled.

And the night deepened.