How Long Is Whispers In The Walls Novels & Stories

It was a nightmare! I have been coping with all the dangerous and painful whispers of the dark for quite some time already. I dream about the same thing almost every fucking night! I do not get the connection... In my dreams, I retain seeing two people. And I know for a fact that it's not a reverie. It was my memory. A memory from a hundred years ago! When I was still in the 17th century! Centuries have passed and that girl, even when it's tough for me to concede, is probably dead.

He unconsciously asked. The woman seemed like she was confused and she couldn’t believe that this man was talking to her. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Ah, about 6 months.” She thriftily said in a low tone of voice. “Quite impressive, huh? You don’t belong here.” He suddenly uttered out of the blue which made his best friend and Annika look astounded. He wasn’t that type of man to just blurt something out.

I stood in front of her door like a fucking idiot. No guards. No witnesses. Just me and the soft scent of vanilla and cocoa butter that leaked from the crack beneath the wood. Her scent. Penelope. Sweet and sinful, soft and haunting—the only scent that ever made my wolf purr and snarl at the same time. I’d been here for forty goddamn minutes. Forty minutes of standing here like some deranged fool... waiting... hoping... aching. Ten minutes of staring at this door, waiting like a dog for a scrap of attention. Like some useless pup too afraid to knock. Too afraid she wouldn’t open it at all. I wasn’t even sure if she was back from her duties. I hadn’t dared to check. Coward.

I hadn’t wanted to think about that. The walls of the tunnel closed in, so we had to walk in single file. Heaviness clung to the air, a damp mist that whispered, low and insidious, like voices in the dark from beyond the grave. Mark flinched. “Please tell me I’m not the only one hearing that.” “You’re not,” Ethan said through a tight throat. I swallowed hard, adjusting the twins on the other side of me. The whispers weren’t in any language I could understand, but the way they coiled into my mind like smoke, I could feel them wrapping themselves around my thoughts and making it hard to concentrate.

The butterflies danced away inside while goosebumps raced their way up and down my arms just from the smoldering gaze I encountered as we locked eyes and for just a few seconds, time seemed to stop. He held out his hand for me and as I took it, he pulled me slowly out the door. I pulled the door back, leaving it open just a crack and leaned in to listen, to make sure Nate hadn’t stirred. Satisfied that I wasn’t hearing any sounds, I stepped away from it and back toward Owen. “Don’t worry. We are just gonna be next door here and we can keep the door open. If he wakes up and calls for you or comes out into the hallway, we can hear him.”

Ancient. Uninvited. Her reflection in the window flickered once, and a whisper brushed her ear. Three have felt the pull. Her breath caught. “Who’s there?” The whisper smiled. And the fourth waits in shadow. The window cracked from the inside, spiderwebbing outward before the whisper faded completely. Lyra pressed a trembling hand to the glass. “Fourth?” she whispered. And somewhere in the distance, the bell tolled once—low and heavy. The mark on her skin burned back to life.

I whispered. I walked over to the counter, picked up the small bag, and slipped it into my coat pocket. Without wasting another second, I opened the door and walked out, leaving behind the safety of my room—and maybe, a part of myself too. I walked back outside and followed him. We got to Mrs. Yates's room, and I asked him to excuse us. He went outside; I looked at the woman and spat on her face, then injected her and she slept off immediately. After some few minutes, I walked back outside; he looked at me, waiting for an answer, and I gave him an assuring look before making my way upstairs.

The man nodded and disappeared down the corridor. And then there was nothing. Nothing but the waiting. Time stretched in a way that felt cruel, warped—five hours that felt like five years, five lifetimes, five silent funerals rehearsed in the mind over and over again. The sterile white walls seemed to close in, the ticking of a distant clock echoing too loudly, as if mocking the fragile rhythm of the heart they were all waiting on.

Sauces and liquids dripped from the flipped table, while Bianca stepped back in fear. Her face had turned as white as a sheet, but she kept her silence. William's breathing was heavy and ragged as he stormed upstairs. Three months had gone by. Although William never brought me up again, he never stopped finding out where I had gone. He still wasn't sure if I'd gone back to Cathay. … Another day, another wine and dine. He came back smelling like alcohol. The driver had to hold him up until they hit the doorstep. A wobbling William opened the door. It was dark inside.

I whispered, even though no one could catch my words. I rested my back against the wall, arms crossed over my chest anticipating. Anticipating what I couldn’t quite tell a miracle? A choice from Vivienne? The bravery within me to remain a while longer? Perhaps I simply wished to ensure she wouldn’t collapse again. Wouldn’t lose consciousness again. Wouldn’t be isolated again. Time dragged on. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. I continued to fixate on that door wishing for any sign. Anything. Footsteps. A knock back. Even just the noise of someone breathing inside.