The House Of Whispers 소설 & 이야기

Dante moved swiftly past the main floor, through the kitchen, and to the back cupboard. He opened it, and inside was a medium-sized red buzzer. He hit it, and instantly a section of the wall split open, revealing a narrow passage. Dante stepped inside. There, in the darkened room, sat Whisper, his figure barely visible, framed by the soft glow of his cigarette. “What’s going on?” Dante asked, stepping closer. Whisper didn’t turn. He simply gestured to the file on the small table beside Dante. Dante flipped it open.

Just the quiet creak of the old house settling and the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. My heart kicked up anyway, at the realization that they weren’t gone. They were waiting. I pushed myself up on shaky arms, the sheets sliding off my breasts. Fresh bruises bloomed across my hips and waist. Bite marks on the insides of my thighs. A dark hickey at the base of my throat that would be impossible to hide. I didn’t want to hide it though.

I spun around, heart slamming. No answer. Footsteps retreated. **Josephine POV** Panic hit instantly. The room was pitch black except for those sickly green strips. Human skeletons hung on stands, their empty eye sockets staring. Glass jars held floating organs and fetuses in formaldehyde. The smell of chemicals burned my nose. I ran to the door and yanked the handle. Locked. “No… no, no, no!” I pounded on the metal. “Open the door! Let me out!” My voice echoed uselessly. The building was empty. No one would hear.

Moonlight poured through the tall windows. Everything looked perfectly normal. Yet the whisper continued. "...this way..." Without realizing it, I found myself following the sound. Past the nursery….Past the library. Down the long stone hallway leading toward the oldest wing of the pack house. A place almost no one used anymore. The whisper stopped. I looked around. Nothing. "Who's there?" Silence. Then...A door slowly creaked open by itself. My heart pounded against my ribs. I should have turned back. I should have gone to find Kael.

Soon, I got my answer. In order to get proof about him and Joy as soon as possible, I asked Philip to buy dozens of discreet pinhole cameras so that I could put them in various corners of the house. After days of pretending to be a good husband, Jeremy finally revealed his true colors one night. In the footage, I saw Jeremy sitting on the sofa with a dark expression. “When are you going to get that insurance contract ready? I’m already prepared and can execute the plan whenever I want.” “Patience. You can’t get anything done if you’re impatient, understand? We have to make this perfect, or we’ll get into trouble.”

I pull open the door to the third guest room, my steps silent, but before I can step inside, a low, urgent murmur catches my attention. It’s coming from the recessed alcove near the end of the hall, right where the servant’s stairwell connects to the upper floors. I freeze, my hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe. I press my back flat against the cold wall, my breath catching in my throat as I strain my ears. In this house, whispers are more dangerous than gunshots. “What the fuck are you doing?” a voice snaps. It’s low, filtered through clenched teeth, but the clipped, elegant Russian accent is unmistakable.

she rasped, her voice like crumpled paper. Ethan hesitated, adjusting his glasses. “Uh… yeah. Just moved in.” She snorted. “Hope you like thin walls, kid.” Before he could ask what she meant, she turned away, as if she had already lost interest in him. The cherry of her cigarette burned faintly in the dim light, casting an eerie glow against her weathered face. Ignoring the strange welcome, Ethan slid the key into the lock and twisted. The door groaned in protest as it swung open, revealing a small, almost suffocating space.

The wrought iron gate resisted my push before snapping free with a violent screech. Inside, everything felt colder than it should have. My shoes clicked on the marble flooring as I crossed through the foyer. Old sheets draped over furniture like corpses. A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, fractured, one of its crystals hanging by a thread of metal. I could swear I heard whispers. It felt like the house remembering what had happened inside it.

NICO The house won’t stop whispering. It used to hum for me, everything in rhythm—staff footsteps like a march, doors opening the second I thought about them, glasses filled before I noticed they were empty. Now it hisses. Conspiracies in the wallpaper. Treason in the polished floorboards. Alvarez’s shoes tap like Morse code in the halls. They’re all talking, all plotting. But Hannah—Hannah still sits where she should. At my table, in my house, in my reach.

But when he opened the door, all he saw was junk piled to the ceiling, the place stinking of mold and trash. That was when he realized I'd been gone for years. Later that morning, right after I wrapped up a team meeting, my phone lit up with a number I hadn't seen in forever. My chest tightened, but I let it ring. Three seconds of hesitation, then I hit decline and blocked him. Not even a minute later, he texted me on social media. [Honey, did you move? Where'd you go? I got flowers for you. Tell me where you are. I'll come find you.]