Dark Whispers

7. Is the Stream Really Over?

The countdown on the screen froze at 00:00:00. The livestream flickered a few times before settling on a final notification:

[LIVE STREAM HAS ENDED.]

Jamie panted, her body still tense from the overwhelming rush of adrenaline. Sandra, gripping the metal rod tightly, kept her gaze locked onto the screen, her expression devoid of relief.

"It's… over, right?" Jamie asked in a hushed voice, uncertainty lacing her tone.

Sandra didn't respond. The air around them remained unnervingly still, as if something unseen lurked in the shadows, watching.

Then—

The screen flashed violently.

For a brief second, a distorted image flickered before their eyes—

A man in a tattered hoodie, his face smeared with blood, lips curled into a grotesque grin. His eyes—two gaping voids of darkness— were locked directly onto them.

A sharp chill shot down Jamie's spine.

Sandra grabbed her arm, voice low and urgent.

"Move."

Just as they turned—

CRACK.

The entire building went dark.

A suffocating silence descended.

Then—

A skittering sound.

From the corners of the room, from the walls, from the very darkness itself—something was crawling.

Jamie's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers trembled slightly as an undeniable presence closed in from all directions.

Sandra calmly reached for her tactical flashlight, pulled it from her belt, and clicked it on.

A harsh white beam cut through the pitch-black room—

And landed on a face.

A twisted, grinning face.

The Executioner from the livestream.

His bloodstained expression remained frozen in its ghastly smile. His eyes—hollow and black— bore into them with an unnatural intensity.

Then—he lunged.

Sandra swung the metal rod with full force, aiming straight for his face—

But it passed right through.

He wasn't real.

Jamie yanked Sandra back, her pulse hammering in her ears.

From the shadows, a guttural whisper slithered through the air. It wasn't a voice but a low-frequency drone, sinking into their minds like static, distorting their thoughts.

Jamie's knees buckled—her head swam.

Sandra grabbed her wrist. "Don't listen."

They bolted for the hallway.

Just as they reached the exit—

BAM!

The door slammed shut on its own.

Jamie's pulse spiked.

Sandra rammed into the door, trying to break through, but the whispers grew louder, the shadows slithered along the walls, and the thing was closing in.

Jamie's gaze snapped to the window.

She didn't hesitate. "The window—jump!"

Sandra didn't question it.

With a powerful kick, she shattered the glass.

The two of them plunged out the second floor, landing hard onto the debris-strewn ground.

From above, a shadow loomed in the broken window, still grinning, still watching—

But it didn't step outside.

It couldn't leave the building.

Jamie staggered to her feet, heart pounding.

Up above, the figure began to blur, fading into the darkness.

The building fell silent once more—as if nothing had ever happened.

8. The Message

Bruised and shaken, the two staggered towards Sandra's car.

Jamie's knees were scraped raw, and Sandra's hand bled from a deep cut caused by the glass.

They exchanged a quick glance—both exhausted, both on edge—but alive.

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, she couldn't resist one final glance at the abandoned building.

Dark. Silent.

Like the horror had ended with the stream.

She exhaled, muttering, "It's finally over…"

Sandra, however, said nothing.

Instead, she pulled out her phone, checking if the interference from earlier had cleared.

Then—her face darkened.

Jamie immediately noticed the shift.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning over.

Sandra turned the phone toward her.

A notification had appeared on the livestream platform.

A new comment.

[Do you really think the stream is over?]

Jamie's stomach dropped.

Then—

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

A new message had appeared.

[YOU ARE NOW WATCHING A LIVE STREAM.]

Jamie's breath hitched.

Her screen was filled with a live feed—but it wasn't from the abandoned building.

It was from right where they were sitting.

The camera was pointed at their car.

The angle slowly zoomed in—fixating on their faces.

Jamie's finger flew to the exit button—

But before she could press it—

A countdown appeared.

10:009:599:58…

Sandra's phone vibrated next.

She looked down.

A single line of text glowed on her screen.

[Welcome to the next round of the livestream—this time, you're the main event.]