Chapter One: The Attic

When the room went dark, she heard her name.

At first, it was little more than a whisper, soft and uncertain, like a draught slipping through a crack in an old window. Then it came again, clearer this time, curling through the darkness like breath against her ear. “Emily.”

Her heart gave a sharp thud. She had been alone for hours, sitting in the attic with only the glow of her desk lamp and the steady ticking of the clock below. The power had gone suddenly, plunging her into a darkness so thick it seemed to move around her. She held her breath and listened.

Nothing. Only the faint patter of rain against the roof and the sigh of the old beams.

Emily exhaled slowly and reached for her phone, fumbling across the desk until her fingers brushed against it. The screen lit her face with a pale blue glow, throwing long shadows across the walls. For a moment, she felt foolish. Perhaps she had imagined it. The house was old, filled with restless noises and half-forgotten echoes. She told herself it was nothing more than that.

Then the whisper came again, from the far corner of the attic. “Emily.”

Chapter Two: The Reflection

Her fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. “Who is that?” she called, though her voice trembled.

Silence.

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. The shape of the old wardrobe loomed against the wall, its top brushing the slanted ceiling. It looked different now, somehow taller, the edges less certain. For an instant, she thought it leaned slightly towards her, as though listening.

She took a cautious step back. The attic floor creaked beneath her feet, the sound sharp in the quiet. The air felt colder now, heavy and still. She rubbed her arms, trying to ignore the memory that surfaced unbidden.

Her grandmother’s voice, soft and matter-of-fact: “Never go into the attic after midnight, Emily. The walls remember.”

Emily had always laughed at that. Her grandmother had loved stories, especially the sort that sent shivers down your spine. But now, standing alone in the darkness, those words no longer sounded like superstition.

The whisper came again. Closer this time. “Emily.”

Her breath caught. She turned sharply, the phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. The screen spun, casting wild flashes of light around the room. Something moved in the doorway.

A shape. Pale. Still. Watching her.

Chapter Three: The Figure

At first, she thought it was her reflection thrown oddly by the light. But then it took a step forward—slow, deliberate. The face came into view, and Emily felt her stomach twist. It was her. Or rather, it looked like her. The same face, the same eyes. But there was something wrong. The eyes were too dark, too hollow, and the mouth curved into a slow, unnatural smile.

Emily stumbled back until her shoulders hit the wall.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

The figure tilted its head, almost curiously, and that strange smile widened.

Then, as suddenly as it had gone out, the light flickered back on.

The attic was empty. The wardrobe stood silent and still, the doorway bare.

Emily blinked against the brightness, her heart thudding in her chest. She bent to pick up her phone. A thin crack ran through the glass, but it still glowed faintly. She stared at the screen, her reflection faint against the fractured surface.

For a heartbeat, she thought she saw herself smiling. But her own lips were perfectly still.

A sound came from below—a deep, hollow chime. Midnight.

Chapter Four: Welcome Home

She forced herself to move, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door. The attic suddenly felt suffocating, the air thick with dust and cold. She pulled the door open and stepped onto the landing.

The narrow staircase stretched into shadow. Only the faint orange glow of a streetlamp filtered through the small upstairs window. She hesitated, then started down, one careful step at a time.

Halfway down, the whisper came again. “Emily.”

It came from above. From the attic she had just left.

She froze, clutching the banister so tightly her fingers ached.

A soft sound followed—a slow, dragging step across the floorboards above. Then another.

Something was moving up there.

Panic surged through her chest. She wanted to run, to bolt for the door, but her legs would not obey. Her gaze lifted slowly, against her will, towards the open attic door.

There, silhouetted in the dim light, stood the figure.

It was motionless at first, but then it began to descend, one slow step at a time. The boards groaned beneath its feet, though the air around it shimmered faintly, as if it were not entirely there.

Emily turned and fled. She stumbled down the stairs, through the narrow hallway, and into the kitchen. The rain was hammering against the windows now, wind howling through the gaps in the frame. She seized the back door handle, twisted, and pulled.

It would not budge.

She turned.

The figure stood in the doorway of the hall, its head tilted at that same unnatural angle. Its eyes gleamed faintly, though they held no light.

“Please,” Emily whispered. “What do you want from me?”

The figure did not move. Instead, a voice came, quiet and deliberate.

“You left me.”

The words seemed to echo inside her skull. She shook her head. “Left who?”

The figure’s expression flickered, its face distorting slightly, as though seen through water. For a moment, Emily saw something else behind it—another face, faint and familiar. A girl. A memory.

The old attic. Two children. A promise broken long ago.

Emily felt the breath catch in her throat. “No,” she whispered. “It cannot be.”

The figure smiled again, that same terrible curve of the lips.

Then the lights flickered once more, and everything vanished.

The kitchen was empty. The rain fell in steady rhythm. Only the faint ticking of the clock broke the silence.

Emily stood very still. Slowly, she turned towards the cracked window. Her reflection looked back at her, pale and wide-eyed. But as she stared, she realised something was wrong.

Her reflection was smiling.

A soft voice drifted through the air, almost lost beneath the rain.

“Emily.”

And then, faintly, as if from inside the walls themselves:

“Welcome home.”

Steve

@Dna

United Kingdom

The Whisper in the Dark

Dna

Chapter One: The Attic