Whispering Echoes Novels & Stories

The fact is that if I will be seen by such creature my demise would be imminent. It was rather odd that En was quite in this whole endeavor. He might be trying to contact the powerful being in order to help me or he’s just busy with trying to block the maddening whispers that were trying to invade my mind. I scratched my ears as the insistent buzzing due to the miasma made my ear itchy, like listening to an ASMR but instead of sweet nothings all you could hear were maddening screams of those who were taken and there urge to join them in there maddening cacophony.

She had no body here. No blood. No breath. Only echo. Mirabella drifted through the hush of the Whispering Place, where the souls of former Veilwalkers rested like dust in starlight. Time moved differently here, slow and spiraling, each moment layered over the next. She had not spoken in years. Not in words, anyway—her thoughts moved like tides, touching the memories of those who had come before and those yet to be. But now, something stirred. A ripple in the echo.

Lyra was drowning. Not in water, but in darkness - vast, endless, pressing in from all sides. It clung to her like thick fog, swallowing every breath, every sound, every thought. The silence was oppressive, stretching infinitely, until the first whisper curled through the void. Soft at first. Then another. And another. The whispers layered upon each other, some frantic, others coaxing, all slipping between her fingers like water whenever she tried to grasp their meaning. A language lost to time, a song of secrets too old to understand.

I was adrift in a sea of darkness, my senses overwhelmed by the oppressive silence. Yet, through the void, I heard them – voices like faint echoes, like whispers from a forgotten dream. Though their words were unclear, their tones were unmistakable. A gentle hand shook my shoulder, a familiar voice whispering my name.

The air felt heavy with unspoken fears, and I wished I could shield Cassie from the weight of it all. Suddenly, the members of the camp encircled the well, their faces resolute yet illuminated by an ancient reverence. They began to chant, their voices rising rhythmically into a haunting melody that wove through the trees like a soft breeze. Although I didn’t understand the words—each syllable foreign and yet strangely familiar—the sound itself was beautiful, rich with a history that resonated deep within me. The language flowed with a poetry that seemed to connect the past to the present, binding the souls of their ancestors to that very moment.

** Shadows of the Past** Sophia held her breath, feeling the veil settle over her shoulders. The faint, ghostly voices filled the room, weaving through the air in a rhythmic chant, their sorrowful tones heavy with memories and longing. Ethan’s hand tightened around hers, anchoring her amidst the echoing whispers. Together, they stood before the ancient altar, their breaths in sync as the supernatural presence pressed down around them. “Do you feel that?” she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Ethan nodded, his gaze never leaving her face.

But it didn't last long, my thoughts were interrupted by the chain of whispers. I couldn't keep running from them forever but how was I supposed to face this fear? I kept my eyes closed but instead of blocking the sounds, I started focusing on them. The whispers were getting louder. I tried to block all the sounds around me and kept listening to one particular sound. There were no longer 10 voices saying something together over and over again. Just as the clouds part to reveal a cold, endless sky, the chorus of voices faded one by one, until only a single, hollow whisper remained: *You were never meant to be here.*

Or so I thought. The Graft didn’t forget. The whispers aren’t whispers anymore. They’re voices. Full volume, echoing in the shared space of our skulls. YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME! my recorded shriek rings out, layered over itself, again and again, each repetition gaining a metallic, distorted edge. I NEED SPACE! his voice booms back, a cold, dead counterpoint.