Do you know that feeling of being watched? That feeling when you’re completely alone, but you’re afraid to turn around?
Only you and the familiar clang of the air conditioner turning on are present in your room from night to agonizing night… But you can simply sense something is there?
It seems as though only yesterday your mother and father would check your closet for monsters and assure you that the Boogeyman was not beneath your mattress. But sometimes… Sometimes it feels as though such creature can actually exist. As if you were to look into your closet, something would jump out at you, or if your feet overhung your bed, something may claw at your ankles.
But all of that is just your imagination. Right? Nothing of such horrors truly exists. It’s all in the movies. You really mustn’t let your mind wander, for there are dark places of the mind that should be left unexplored. But… There always is a possibility, isn’t there? Who’s to say no one is to spring from your closet once you shut your door for the night? Who’s to say you won’t hear that faithful whisper in your sleep before being plunged into a world of red?
The fact of the matter is: No one really knows.
Such things happen.
It’s November now. November 1st. It’s exactly two days, five minutes, and 48 seconds since my sister has died. HE told me to keep track. I must not disobey. You, reader, must know that fear in it’s purest state really does exist, and once uncovered, it can only be relived over… and over… and over…
But I must get back to the point. You see, it was not always this way.
Mom and dad weren’t always so angry. Sister was still alive.
And I never used to shake this badly.
HE’S coming for me, so I must write this quickly. I haven’t more than a day left, but you must know what happened.
My time may be cut short, for HE told me not to tell. HE made me lie and say that I did in fact see the imaginary man that indeed was HIM creep through our backyard, break the glass that HE had scratched through, and how the imaginary man that was HE did in fact kill my sister.
If I had known HE’D come for me only three days later, maybe I would not have lied to the reporters. If they had seen what HE did to her, they’d have to believe such a crazy thing! No killer tears out their victim’s throat with their bare hands. But… HIS voice… The shrill, quick whisper HE spoke in chills my bones to this very moment.
“Shhh…” HE’D speak in a tainted tone, a mumbled stutter, but still all the most haunting. “D-D-D-on’t t-tell…” and with his featureless face with none other than a smirk on his lipless, pencil scratched mouth, HE raised HIS curved, bony finger topped with a near foot long claw to HIS mouth, and wiped away my sister’s blood.
Three days. That’s how long it took for HIM to find us. Only three days. It was innocent! We never meant to find him!
Such things happen.
Sister and I were only taking a walk, just like usual. When we heard the oddest of crunching noises, we just had to investigate! It was far too uncommon to see an animal of any decent size in these woods to miss an opportunity like that!
But what we found was much more… extreme… than any animal we could have imagined. We should have never gone off the trail that day.
Sister and I, we would have never seen HIM. I knew something was wrong when my heart began to race. I knew something was wrong when the water of the creek we followed turned a tint of red. My heart is beating fast now. It’s thumping harder than three days ago when we saw HIM hunched over the girl HE had captured.
Sister and I stumbled backwards in shock and utter disbelief.
First thought: This is not happening.
Second though: Maybe it didn’t see us.
Both my thoughts were suddenly disproved as the creature I now know as HIM, slowly turned HIS head to us. And began crawling towards us. Sister and I were both paralyzed in this impossible grip of fear, unable to move anymore than the quick glance we exchanged which I was certain would be our last. HE looked… Smooth. No features, nor clothes on HIS body. HE walked in a jolted, uneven motion on all fours, using the back of HIS hands, where HIS wrists touched the ground, instead of palms to support HIMSELF. HIS claws of one hand were twisted in the dead girl’s hair tightly, making her neck bend at an unnatural angle. The unbearable stench of death filled my lungs.
HE moved right to my sister, that same lipless grin stretched across HIS blank face, and raised a single set of claws. Too petrified to do anything, I sat in agonizing disbelief as HE began to stroke my sister’s hair slowly, nearly getting HIS claws stuck in between strands. HE spoke to me the first time in the same muttering, aching whisper HE did three days later, when the girl in HIS rust color claws was my sister’s long, blond, beautiful hair…
“S-Sh-Shhh… D-D-Don’t t-tell…” And with that, HE dragged away the limp, lifeless body of the girl, and my sister cried. Oh well…
Such things happen.
We didn’t tell anyone what had happened that night. We just… couldn’t disobey HIM. Mom and dad screamed at each other that night. I don’t know why, for it was so rare of them to fight. They screamed at each other every night since we saw HIM. Even after sister died. Last night… heh… last night, Dad pushed Mom down the stairs. They were… talking… no, arguing… about sister.
The police never found sister’s body.
HE took it. Now I realize that my sister lays next to the dead girl we had seen HIM take in the forest three days ago.
Or… What is left of her, that is.
The past two nights, I’ve awoken abruptly between the early hours of two and four a.m. My disturbance of sleep is unknown why, but… What I awoke to every time shook me worst than the last.
The first night it was nothing more than the hint of a voice from the back of my mind. I brushed it off quickly, and attempted to fall back asleep. The voice in the back of my head grew louder and more and more distinct. It was the voice of HIM. HE was… Saying… something. It was muttered and distorted and not comprehendible, but somehow… I knew the words HE spoke meant something. I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
The next night was no different. I awoke unexpectedly and with the same discord whisper deep within my ears. Only one thing had changed. The skin on my ankle had been completely torn open, a sloppy “W” etched into my flesh. My sheets around my feet were soaked in blood, and the familiar reek of death filled my room. The whispering had grown louder, words becoming more clear, and I could pick out a few “The”’s. Only then did it occur to me now what sister had bags around her eyes. Only then did it occur to me why she had a bandage wrapped around her ankle, and had blamed it on a “simple sprain.”
HE marked her.
And I was next.
I’m running out of time. I have less than an hour left before the exact minute three days ago my sister was killed. I know I’m next, I can already hear faint hints of HIM scratching at my window.
My screen just torn a little.
The whispering is coming back again. I… I can hear it clearly now. “THE WHISPERER”, it mutters. It makes sense now. I know what HE is called now.
Heh… Dearest reader…
Lock your windows at night. Don’t let your feet hang of the edge of your bed.
And do not go into the woods.
THE WHISPERER will find you. For now you know what fear truly is.