Under The Whispering Door Novels & Stories

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.

And the little girl whispered softly: “She opened the gate for me once.” Her voice changed halfway through the sentence. Becoming deeper. Older. Wrong. “She can do it again.” Every candle died instantly. Darkness crashed over us. And beneath the nursery floor— something enormous moved.

Like she was the prophecy and the prophecy was her. “I love you, Zach,” she had whispered. Not desperate. Not broken. Just truth. I’d felt her pulse flutter once more. Then silence. A silence that still hadn’t lifted. A silence that was killing me slower than any bullet ever could. Footsteps approached the door, muffled. Someone hovered on the other side. The estate held its breath again, waiting to see if I’d answer. I didn’t. Niko’s voice came first. Low. Cautious. “Zach… open the door.”

She was too embarrassed to ask her neighbor for another favor. Justin, maybe? Yes. Justin! She hurried out of her house and rang the doorbell of her neighbor. She pressed it several times, but no one came to open the door. She went back inside her own home, yet every time she heard a noise, she couldn’t help but peek out through the door.

Another door caught his eye. JAX – HEROIC DEATH. The label had a tiny laurel wreath etched around it, like the system couldn’t resist being on‑the‑nose. A soft, distant echo of a monster’s roar leaked from the crack under the door, and—fainter still—what might have been Willa shouting his name. The sound was more impressive than audio, but it made the hairs on his arms stand up. “You better not be lying about this one,” he muttered and stepped through before he could talk himself out of it.

Not one of our stupid fake-dating moments. A real, raw, terrified grip. He whispers only one thing. “Don’t say a word.” My breath trembles. “Sora,” I whisper before I can stop myself. Ethan tenses. The door handle turns again. And the door slowly begins to open.

I listen for footsteps, but I’m met by silence. “Dalton?” I force out his name in a soft whisper like I’m afraid to say it any louder. I turn to look down the darkened hallway and grip the banister to help guide my way through the dark. The hallway splits into a T. Light pours from a closed door down a hallway to the left. I suck in a breath, fighting to get my nerves in order before storming down the hall and throwing open the door with so much force it bounces off the wall.

The spirits' whispers merged into a single voice, urging us onward, guiding our steps. "We've come so far," Samantha whispered, her voice quivering with anticipation. "Let's unlock the gate and bring Scarlett back to us." With hands trembling but hearts steadfast, we approached the gate, its ancient symbols glowing with latent power. We each placed a hand upon the gateway, the sacrifice of the our predecessors resonating within us. As our fingertips made contact, a surge of energy coursed through our bodies, intertwining our fates with the whispers of the past. The gate shuddered, its mechanisms awakening after centuries of slumber.

The incredibly loud whispers are confusing Roy’s every decision. The door opened by itself. The door creaked open with a sound that didn’t belong to wood or metal; it was like the groan of something ancient exhaling for the first time in centuries. The whispers stopped. Silence. Roy stood frozen, staring into the darkness beyond the door. It wasn’t pitch black; it was textured and layered, like a curtain of smoke and static. Shapes moved within it but never fully formed. He took a step forward. The air changed.

And I whispered, “If someone’s listening… show me the rest.” For a second, nothing happened. Then the overhead lights popped—one by one. Glass rained onto the dusty floor. And in the dark, I heard a voice. Not mine. Not human. “You were never meant to find Door #2.”