Ghosted Whispers Novels & Stories

Her silence. He hadn't slept. A knock echoed. Not on his door, but from the wall. Three soft taps. Ethan tensed. Three more. It wasn't rhythmic or taunting. It was deliberate. He stood, his legs weighed down with mass, and approached the wall that separated them. His fingers caressed the chilly surface. His breath caught. Another knock. Just one this time. He opened his mouth to say something—but nothing came out. Then, as a ghost in the air, her voice came through.

I stayed with Justin throughout the morning. Luckily for him the wraiths had improved. They were faster and more precise and could even doge slightly. For being soul spirits of the deceased they had improved greatly. At around midday Justin waved the wraiths off. “They are doing better.” I spoke carefully watching him dunk a bucket of water over his head. “Not good enough. They need to not hesitate. Kill faster and more cleaner.” Justin paused “If they are not ready by Summer Solstice, Eric will not let it go lightly.”

It’s been days and I haven’t left the house or answered my phone, it’s been days and I haven’t moved and inch from the spot in sitting in, I've been sitting in the same potion with my back to the wall facing the bedroom door as if at any second they’ll come crashing in and drag me to hell for what I've done to them. “Christopher” echo’s around me bouncing off the white walls around me “CHRISSSS”comes the hissing sound of another voice as it calls out to me, I know their not here I buried them, I watched their blood stain my hands, I watched their eyes and the life they held faded away. I watched as I covered them with dirt as I stood over them watching them disappear with every shovel full o

“ Meara!” The whispers started again, soft but notable. I tensed, my eyes snapping open. I scanned the field, but there was no one in sight. The sound seemed to come from the tree itself, from the rustling of its leaves. I pressed my palms against the rough bark and closed my eyes, focusing on the whispers. " Come... find... me..." The words were faint but distinct. My heart raced. Was I losing my mind, or was there something more to these whispers? I stood up, brushing the dirt off my jeans, and took a few steps back. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

Sophia whispered, her voice shaky but determined. Ethan pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. He motioned for them to retreat farther into the forest. With slow, calculated steps, they began to edge backward, away from the clearing where they had foolishly let their guard down. The forest was thick, offering cover in the form of towering trees and dense foliage, but it also concealed whoever—or whatever—was lurking out there. Sophia’s heart pounded in her chest, the rhythmic thumping deafening in her ears. She gripped her gun tighter, the metal cool against her clammy skin. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves made her jump, her senses heightened to a razor's edge.

I was adrift in a sea of darkness, my senses overwhelmed by the oppressive silence. Yet, through the void, I heard them – voices like faint echoes, like whispers from a forgotten dream. Though their words were unclear, their tones were unmistakable. A gentle hand shook my shoulder, a familiar voice whispering my name.

I recorded the melody, layering the notes with the specific rhythmic pauses we had invented as children to communicate without words. The light is fading from the stone, and I walk the empty halls alone. But in the dark, I hear your name,The ghost of love, the dying flame.If time has stolen what we knew,I’ll burn the world to get to you. ​I played the recording back. It sounded haunting, a thin, lonely line of sound that carried the weight of everything I was losing. It was the only way to remind her that I was still here, somewhere underneath the code and the protocols. It was a beacon for two ghosts lost in the same graveyard.

was still echoing in my goddamn chest, soft and thunderous all at once. And then this. Gio wanted to unravel her. Piece by piece. He wasn’t coming with armies, he was coming with ghosts. With messages carved into flesh. He was reminding us that monsters don’t always knock. They just let themselves in. My phone buzzed. Another message. Another body. This one was worse.

“Every life the vow touched.” Before either man could respond, the air pulsed — a faint vibration that rippled through the waterlogged ground. The mist rose higher, shapes forming within it: faint silhouettes, human and beast both, moving with hollow grace. Kaelen swore under his breath. “Ghosts.” “Echoes,” Serenya corrected. Her voice was soft, almost reverent. “They’re not alive, but they still remember pain.” Eryndor straightened, his eyes scanning the fog. “Then keep them from remembering us.”

One evening, as I was sitting by the river, helping Kaelen mend a large fishing net, my hands slowly relearning the familiar, rhythmic motions, the barest whisper of a thought brushed against the edge of my consciousness, a faint, fading echo of the Elder Whisper. "They search for you," it murmured, its voice thin and distant as morning mist. "The broken ones. They walk the desolate borders of our lands, haunted by the ghosts of their failure. They call your name into the wind, begging for a forgiveness that the winds cannot carry and that will not come." I paused, my fingers stilling on the rough, damp twine. I looked out at the sun-dappled water, listened to the easy chatter and laughter o