The Whisper Man Novels & Stories

He never once told them to stop until the last bucket was empty. He slowly walked over to her, bent down, and wiped her cheek with a silk handkerchief. But his words were sharp and cruel. "Sandra is awake. She doesn't blame you for cursing her and forgives you. She even said it wasn't really you who did it, but you were possessed." He paused. "I had my men prepare the salt water for you. It's supposed to ward off evil spirits, but it won't do anything unless you're soaked in it for 72 hours."

I know where the line is, and I know how to walk it without falling. He finally lifts his gaze. Gray eyes. Cold as the barrel of a gun. He’s in a black button-down, sleeves rolled. There’s a silver watch on his wrist and a blade on the desk in front of him, not decorative. He likes to clean his knives when he’s bored. Or when he’s thinking about someone who needs to disappear. “I’ve been hearing whispers,” he says calmly. “About you.” My blood turns to glass. “Oh?” “You’ve been spending time in the South District.”

This was a man who knew exactly who I was, exactly what was in the back of my stolen truck, and exactly who was waiting for me in the cabin up the road. "My name is Silas," he whispered, his gray eyes locking onto mine through the dark lenses of my sunglasses.

She hushed a whisper as he gritted struggling to free his hands from the cuff. "Please, don't. You're hurting yourself," she whispered when they heard footsteps and those two men approached them. They faintly glanced at Issac before one of them crouched down near Innessa. He cupped her jaw causing her lips to pucker out as he made her face him. "You've got a pretty little mouth, girl." The guy smirked as his friend laughed. Issac growls viciously rattling the chair. "Let her go!" His voice boomed as that guy tsked but didn't let her go.

He didn't even have the mindspace to work. I had chosen to leave and had taken great care to wipe all traces of me in the system. As a result, William couldn't find out where I had gone. … Days passed William by like they always did. It was dull, monotonous, and filled with work. He came home groggy and dazed, but then a familiar scent hit him. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately charged into the dining room. He was so desperate that he didn't even change into his indoor shoes.

I have you to thank for it, so I'll use your face and live a good life, don't worry! With those vicious words, the spy dealt the final blow. Ben's voice was filled with pain, but even in his final moments, he remembered to activate the recorder. He believed that one day I would discover the truth, clear his name, and allow him to rest in peace. I fought back my tears and let the recording play to the end. The recording stopped, and silence filled the room. Then someone from the military reacted quickly and pointed at the man posing as Ben. "He's a spy! Get him!"

The sounds of the city—the distant horns, the sirens, the hum of traffic—seemed to fade into the background. He didn't say a word, just took my hand, his thumb tracing my knuckles. He was covered in soot, his jacket torn from our narrow escape down the fire escape, but his eyes were clear for the first time in months. The man who had been the "broken" cousin, the silent artist in the basement, was gone. In his place was a man who had forged his own path through the furnace. ​"It’s over," he said, his voice raspy and exhausted.

I drank a shot of tequila. My thirteenth, if I had not lost count of the last three hours. I tapped my forehead and wiped away the sweat before commanding my senses to allow my claws to appear. I walked towards the lady in front of me, kneeling and clutching her fist to her chest, obviously in pain. I sighed as I watched her eyes form tears but she was holding it in, alright. She looked pitiful. “Natyaramona,” I called her name, pushing her back to her senses while hoping she wouldn't die.

THE MAN IN YELLOW

Sarah asks with a smirk. "This is not a joke, Sarah. But I am relieved it wasn't Austin who took that away. But I don't even know who this guy is," Ruth asks, concerned. "I don't know," I sigh, desperately trying to hold back my tears. Sarah, Ruth, and I head to Club Knight with a mission to uncover the identity of our mystery man. Sarah and Ruth assure me that the club keeps strict records of their customers. "No one goes unnoticed," they say. "Excuse me, we have a bit of a situation here," Ruth addresses the bartender on duty amidst the pulsating atmosphere of the club.