I remember it vividly, the day my world turned upside down. I was just settling in for a quiet evening of binge-watching my favorite shows when it happened. The television flickered, and then went black. At first, I thought it was just a power outage or a technical glitch, but then I heard the whispers.
At first, they were barely audible, just a faint murmur in the back of my mind. But as the night wore on, they grew louder and more insistent. They spoke of unspeakable horrors, of ancient curses and malevolent spirits. And with each passing moment, they seemed to draw closer.
I tried to ignore them, to rationalize them away as nothing more than my overactive imagination playing tricks on me. But as the night wore on, I began to realize that there was something more sinister at work.
It wasn’t just the whispers that filled the room; it was the shadows that danced along the walls, the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet, and the cold, clammy sensation that crept across my skin.
By the time morning finally arrived, I was a trembling wreck. My arm was throbbing in pain, but it was nothing compared to the terror that gripped my heart.
For days, I remained trapped in that haunted house, tormented by the voices that whispered in my ear and the shadows that stalked me at every turn. But eventually, I managed to escape, broken and battered but alive.
Now, whenever I see a television set, I can’t help but shudder. For I know deep down that there are things lurking on the fringes of our reality, things that we can’t begin to comprehend. And when the lights go out, and the whispers start to speak, there is nothing we can do but pray for mercy.