The Whisperman Novels & Stories

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.

He put it to the highest volume so that he won’t hear any noise aside from his music. Meanwhile, a loud noise can be heard in a nearby house. The breaking sound of the glass that comes off the table rang out in the whole house. There, a guy came out of the house while hanging his empty bag on his shoulder. He has this blank and emotionless face while walking out of the house. He looked at his own Harry Winston wrist watch that was a gift to him by his father.

I had no idea where to find him, so I stood outside the prison gates where Trevis had been incarcerated for years. That day, many inmates were released after serving their sentences, but I never saw the person I longed to see. As night fell, I left. The years of longing and unexpressed emotions had almost driven me crazy. So, I began to write, using my few memories to document our story. I titled it "Whispers Across the Moon." It was published in my senior year. The story of a young girl's innocent and unrequited love moved countless readers to tears and touched many hearts.

I ask myself through gritted teeth. I feel like there’s something crawling in my skull, trying to sink its talons into my flesh. I hate being ignored. This is for your own good. For her own good. Let me in, Tanner. Let me in and let’s play my favorite game. I try to take a breath, but my chest is frozen. I feel light headed and woozy, and not from the alcohol blooming in my veins, no. “Who are you?” I whisper to the empty room. “What do you want?”

Sophia’s heart raced, her senses on high alert as they ventured further into the warehouse. A faint light appeared in the distance, drawing them toward it. As they approached, they could make out the outline of a figure standing by a table, the glow from a small lamp casting eerie shadows on the walls. “Welcome,” the figure said, their voice distorted by a voice changer. Sophia couldn’t make out any distinguishing features, the person’s face hidden in the shadows. “I see you’ve come alone. Smart, but not smart enough.” Ethan tensed beside her, his hand subtly brushing against the small firearm hidden beneath his jacket. “We’re here. Now show us what you’ve got.”

That might as well have said, “Suspicious activity happening here—please sniff around with care.” Linda knocked anyway, her fist pounding the heavy wood like she was trying to wake the dead. When no one answered, she leaned on the buzzer with all the subtlety of a foghorn. The door creaked open just enough to reveal a small man with a potato-shaped nose, a face so pale it could’ve doubled as a flashlight, and ginger eyebrows that looked like they were glued on. He wore a black sweater turtleneck and black synthetic trousers that had distinct shine around the knees.

she finally whispered. I looked around before leaning close to her and whispering. "I don't want to take your money, Stephanie. But...maybe you could set me up with this friend of yours. You'd be doing both of us a favor. I think you know me well enough to know I can keep it a secret." She nodded as she thought it over. "I can do that," she whispered huskily. I stood up and hugged her to me tightly. "Thank you so much, Stephanie," I whispered in her ear.

A man emerged from the shadows, dressed head to toe in black, his face hidden behind a dark mask. He stood silently, the tension thickening the air between us. I rose to my feet slowly, keeping my eyes locked on him, my fists clenched. My voice trembled with anger, “Why the hell are you doing this? What do you want from me, huh?” He didn’t look at me right away—just kept staring out the window like he had all the time in the world. Then he spoke, calmly, “I’ve told you before… I don’t want much. Just your boss’s address. That’s all.”

“Perhaps you don’t realize that I’m fully capable of destroying Jessica Lopez’s good name. Would you like me to dig up her past and ruin the success she enjoys today? Ms. Mariano, will you allow your friend to suffer until the end because of you?” Fear gripped her suddenly. Her stubborn resolve melted away. She fell to her knees before the old man, pleading. “P-please, don’t do that to my friend. Hurt me if you must… but don’t involve Jessica. I’m begging you,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Then do what I want you to do.” The old man remained unmoved. Instead, he stood and walked toward the door, leaving the kneeling, stunned, pale, and pleading woman behind.

"Please, someone, help me. I can't see. It's so dark." Amon's shadows pushed into the room first, illuminating it. The Whisper materialized in the center; it was a vaguely humanoid shape made of compressed sound waves. When it saw us, the woman's voice distorted into something cracky. "Help. Me. Please." Then it lunged. Amon caught it with his shadows, but the creature was slippery and hard to hold. I moved in from the side, and my knife found its core. It was a frequency generator. The blade struck true. The Whisper's form destabilized, sound waves scattering in all directions before it dissolved completely.