Whispering Wall Novels & Stories

Her voice had a sharp edge to it, like she wasn’t quite buying the act. Grossman’s smile twisted into something darker. “Climbing, yes. I’ve been practicing. The mountains here have stories—climbers buried under avalanches, their bodies calling me like moths to a flame.” Leila’s eyebrow shot up. “Dead?” she exclaimed without realizing it.

began to carry a new, metallic tang—a vibration from beyond the continental shelf. The white tree in the Whispering Woods had grown ten feet in a single season, its silver-veined leaves translucent and humming with a constant, low-frequency melody. Rhea stood at its base, her palms pressed against the bark. She could feel the heartbeat of the mountain, but beneath that familiar rhythm, there was a stutter—a rhythmic, artificial tapping that felt like a fingernail clicking against a glass jar.

Chapter 88: The Burning Coves The Whispering Coves had earned their name from the eerie, whistling wind that raced through the narrow vertical fissures of the northern cliffs. Tonight, however, the whispers were drowned out by the splintering of wood, the roar of the gale, and the desperate cries of men drowning in the black, churning surf below.

His voice was sharp and the words weighed heavily on me. Before I could answer, he turned toward the forest. “Come with me.” I followed him and we climbed the mountains, higher than we had ever climbed before. Beyond the familiar trails… Beyond the waterfalls… To a narrow cliff overlooking the entire valley. It was such a beautiful sight that I stopped in awe. “Wow! I didn’t know this place existed.” “Only few persons know about this place.” I looked below us, Whispering Haven looked impossibly small, hidden beneath towering silver trees, almost invisible. Darius pointed toward the surrounding mountains.

"Why is it crying?" I didn't know. I had never seen anything like it. The warmth in my chest flickered, uncertain. "What's happening?" Wren asked, pushing through the crowd. "The wall is weeping," I said. "I don't understand it." Lyra moved to stand beside me, her hand joining mine on the stone. "I can feel it," she said. "The quiet. It's inside the wall." "That's impossible," Silas said. "We built these walls with the circle. The quiet shouldn't be able to touch them."

she whispers. “Maybe closer than you think,” I whisper back as anticipation courses through me. Torture. Sweet torture. We move to a more secluded part of the city. The narrow pathway in front of us is surrounded by tall, old brick buildings. It’s called the Whispering Alley, and even in the fading light, there’s a different energy here. Quiet, almost secretive. After a few steps in, I halt, tilting my head. There they are, soft murmurs, like leaves rustling or water trickling. But if you listen closely, it’s more rhythmic, more intentional, like hushed conversations.

I murmured. Edward glanced at me. “The wind?” “No,” I whispered. “The mountains. They’re… speaking.” Sylra slowed her pace but didn’t turn. “You’re not wrong. The Whispering Peaks got their name for a reason. The stones here remember every death, every promise broken. They echo it back to those who can hear.” Aaron snorted. “Fantastic. So we’re hiking through a graveyard with opinions.” Sylra ignored him. “Keep your minds guarded. These mountains feed on fear.”

Something wasn’t right. Before I could change my mind again, I found myself standing right at the door, leaning against it. Eavesdropping. Not something I was proud of, but I needed to know. Her voice had been loud moments ago, almost like she was arguing—or panicking. But now… it was low. Almost like a whisper. Why the sudden change? I pressed my ear more firmly against the door, hoping to catch even a word. And then… I heard it. Just one word. Just one sentence.

The faint tone of her arms became more obvious as she gripped her son's hand in her own slender claws. Chelsea did not cry out at first. Her big orgasms always started silent, the wave hitting her and carrying her higher and higher in a still expectation. As that wave crashed back down, Chelsea's body trembling to announce its arrival, she shrieked, her voice ripping out of her like a jet engine in a wind tunnel.

"There are voices of people that linger when their lives are unjustly taken from this earth," Crystal said. "Voices of blood, and people who can't get justice for themselves. These voices belong to the souls of the dead, and the innocent. They can haunt you, torment you, and even try to kill you if they are strong enough. They are like air. They can't be seen. They can't be touched. They can be felt, but mostly through one's hearing. They glide in the air. The strong wind can stop them, and so can fire. Nature doesn't necessarily stop them, but anything too loud for you to hear them can temporarily stop them. And that is why they are called whispers.