Screams Beneath The Surface

The night seemed to stretch endlessly for Nathan. His mind churned with

unease, and his body felt leaden with exhaustion, yet sleep remained

elusive. Every time he closed his eyes, the echoes of the whispers lingered,

swirling through his thoughts like a relentless storm.

The chill in the air had deepened, creeping through the house like an

unwelcome guest. Huddled under a blanket at the edge of his bed, Nathan

stared out the window, his gaze fixed on the dim, flickering streetlights.

The wind outside had picked up again, sending the branches of the trees

into frenzied movement. Yet, it wasn't the howling wind that unsettled

him. It was the suffocating sensation of a presence—something unseen,

yet undeniably there.

He could feel it in the room, a weight that pressed against his chest,

constricting his breath. His skin prickled as if icy fingers were brushing

against his neck. The whispers returned, soft and faint, like the shadow of

a memory refusing to fade. "Nathan… come closer…" The voice was a

haunting blend of menace and longing, its tone carrying an unsettling

mix of desperation and command. It was as if the speaker yearned for

connection while simultaneously exuding a chilling authority. voice was

barely audible, yet it curled around his thoughts, insistent and unnerving.

Nathan's head snapped toward the door, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The house was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down like a heavy

fog, broken only by the wind's distant howl. But the silence wasn't empty;

it was alive, brimming with an unseen force. Nathan could feel it now,

stronger than before. Something was watching him, its gaze an oppressive

weight that he couldn't shake.

He thought back to his first days in Glenwood. The unease had taken root

almost immediately, creeping into his mind like an insidious whisper. At

the time, he'd dismissed it as the disorientation of being far from home.

But now, as he sat in the suffocating quiet of his room, he realized how

wrong he'd been. The town wasn't just quiet. It was haunted, and

whatever was haunting it had set its sights on him.

Shivering, Nathan pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His hands

trembled as he reached for the bedside lamp. The faint click echoed in the

room, but the bulb flickered weakly before plunging him back into

darkness. Panic flared in his chest as the shadows seemed to deepen,

stretching unnaturally along the walls.

"Nathan…"

The voice was louder this time, sharper, and layered with a mixture of

emotions—an edge of desperation entwined with a sinister undertone. It

wasn't merely a call; it was a plea and a demand, as though the unseen

force grappled with its own torment even as it reached out to him. The

conflicting tones twisted Nathan's gut, leaving him frozen between terror

and a strange, inexplicable pull toward the sound. It wasn't a whisper

anymore. It was a command. He bolted upright, his breath quick and

shallow as his eyes darted around the room. The air felt heavy, oppressive,

as though the walls themselves were closing in. For a moment, he swore

he saw the shadows move, twisting like smoke.

He needed to get out of the room. The oppressive presence was

suffocating, and every instinct screamed at him to leave. Nathan forced

himself to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. The blanket slipped to the

floor as he crept toward the door, his hand reaching out to grasp the cold

metal handle.

The hallway beyond was shrouded in darkness, the faint light from the

street barely penetrating the gloom. Nathan's breath hitched as he

stepped out, his heart hammering in his chest. The floorboards creaked

beneath his weight, each sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent house.

He gripped the railing as he descended the stairs, his knuckles white with

fear. The presence followed him, unseen but undeniable, pressing closer

with every step.

He reached the living room, where the faint embers of the fireplace still

glowed. The room felt different tonight, the shadows cast by the dying

fire shifting unnaturally, as though alive. Nathan froze, his gaze locked on

the far corner of the room. The darkness seemed to ripple, and for a

fleeting moment, he thought he saw a figure standing there, motionless

and silent.

His breath caught, and he blinked, but the figure was gone. The room was

empty, save for the furniture and the oppressive silence. He took a

hesitant step forward, his pulse racing as he scanned the room. The air

was icy now, each breath forming a mist that hung in the stillness. His

instincts screamed at him to turn back, but something kept him rooted in

place.

A soft creak broke the silence, coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Nathan's head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing as his heart

pounded in his chest. The whispers returned, louder and more insistent, a

chorus of voices that seemed to emanate from the very walls.

"Nathan… we're waiting…"

The voice carried an eerie depth, as if layered with emotions it could not

fully contain. There was a note of yearning in its tone, a desperation that

seemed to claw at the edges of Nathan's sanity, yet beneath it lay a dark

undercurrent of menace, as though the speaker reveled in his growing

terror. The sound sent a fresh wave of icy dread coursing through him,

making his breath hitch and his body tremble. words sent a chill down his

spine, and his grip on the railing tightened. He moved toward the kitchen,

his steps slow and deliberate, the shadows around him seeming to shift

and pulse. As he entered, his gaze fell on the table, where a single object

lay in stark contrast to the empty surface.

It was a photograph, old and weathered. Nathan's breath caught as he

recognized it. It was a picture of his family, taken years ago, before

everything had changed. He approached cautiously, his hand trembling as

he picked it up. The edges were frayed, the image faded, but it was

unmistakable.

He turned the photograph over, his stomach twisting as he read the words

scrawled hastily across the back: "They're coming for you, Nathan," the

voice growled, low and guttural, tinged with a sinister certainty that

clawed at his composure. It was a statement, not a warning, carrying a

heavy finality that twisted Nathan's insides into knots. A chill ran down

his spine, the words resonating deep within him, filling his chest with a

suffocating dread and an unbearable weight of inevitability.

The words burned into his mind, their weight pressing down on him like

a physical force. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that

filled the room. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows reaching out

toward him like grasping hands.

Nathan stumbled back, the photograph slipping from his grasp and

fluttering to the floor. His mind reeled, the whispers consuming his

thoughts, the presence pressing closer. He turned and bolted for the door,

his breath coming in ragged gasps as he threw it open and stumbled into

the night.

The cool air hit him like a shock, but the whispers didn't fade. They

followed him, carried on the wind, a haunting melody that refused to let

him go. Nathan stood on the porch, his chest heaving as his eyes darted

around the quiet street. The town of Glenwood lay still and silent, but

Nathan knew better now. The presence was real, and it was watching,

waiting.

And no matter how far he ran, he knew he could never escape it.