Whispers In The Winds Novels & Stories

All subjects talking about the twilight zone and the abyss only talk about how dangerous the miasma is and how no one knows what's really in the abyss, there was none of the topic talking about what resides in the miasma and severe lack of information on what the whispers were. Phil had a bright idea, just like his predecessor his grandfather did, he would catalog his journey and write the things he had seen. Phil got a pencil and paper as he wrote the things he had experienced last night. Phil described how the miasma was not terrifying for him but rather welcoming when he first saw it. He wrote about how the whispers cheered him on and motivated him to go deeper but when he decided to exit

In Abigail’s heart of hearts, she already knows, she has a special admiration for Debbie since the day they met. Abby hasn’t forgotten the days she felt the special connection, though it may not mean anything to Debbie but mere thoughtless words. She can vividly recall; it was their first meet up, as Debbie whispers to her ears and said, “I prayed for you when you’re sick.” Abigail was puzzle when Debbie did know she was sick; in fact, she was not ill during that time. It remains a mystery to Abby why did Debbie whisper those words. It was a sweet melody that touches her soul.

"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.

I whispered to the wind. But like Damon, the wind didn’t have an answer either.

Entry Five – The Shadows That Speak My Name The whispers never stop. At first, they came only at night, slipping into my dreams like a cold breath against my skin. I could push them away and then, dismiss them as nightmares, as tricks of my weary mind. But they are not nightmares. They are not tricks. Now, they follow me everywhere. I hear them in the rustling of the trees when the wind is still. I hear them in the crackling of the fire when no one is near. I hear them in the silence, in the spaces between each heartbeat, growing louder, more insistent.

ALANA The room was too quiet. That thick kind of quiet. The kind that blankets everything until your heartbeat feels louder than the world. I stood by the window, one hand wrapped around a glass of water I hadn’t sipped, the other digging half-moon marks into the soft skin of my forearm. Outside, the wind picked up through the alley behind the warehouse, making the shadows dance like ghosts on the pavement. Zach was behind me, pacing. A caged animal in his own home. I could feel his rage ripple off him like static. The kind of tension that builds in your chest until it has nowhere else to go but explode.

Emily and Sarah stayed nearby but respectfully gave them space. The boat pulled away from the dock with a soft groan and the hum of the motor. Morning mist drifted over the water, catching the light like threads of silk. It was beautiful, in a heartbreaking kind of way. As they reached the center of the river, the captain slowed the boat to a gentle glide. Asher stood up, cleared his throat, and looked out over the water.

The full moon hung low and bright, a silvery beacon carved into the dark canvas of the sky. Its glow bled across the clearing, casting long, eerie shadows that danced between the ancient trees. The forest whispered with the rustling of restless leaves, the towering oaks and pines standing like silent sentinels, watching. Tonight was everything. The night I’d been waiting for my whole damn life. The night of the Mating Ceremony.

The feeling of calm, no matter how lonely, washes over me as I wipe the dirt from my hands, and begin the long walk home. Night always comes early in the mountains, the horizon darkening to indigo long before the rest of the town is even aware. I haven’t even reached the edge of the woods before hearing the whisper of feet behind me. It’s a soft sound, barely discernible in the sound of a forest slowly drifting to sleep, but I recognize the cadence of pursuit. I don’t turn, or run. Doing either would invite escalation, and I would rather not anger the guardians of the woods without provocation.

"I hate this. I hate every second that you aren't behind the stone walls of Kharos." "The stone walls are where the traitors live," she reminded him softly. "Out here, at least we know who the enemies are." They moved into the deep woods. The Whispering Woods earned its name from the way the wind moved through the silver-leafed birch trees, creating a sound that mimicked human voices. As they pushed deeper, the air grew colder, and the vegetation began to change. The vibrant greens of the forest floor gave way to sickly, translucent whites and deep, bruised purples.