Leo’s new bedroom was okay. It had a window that looked out onto a big oak tree, a comfy bed, and a desk for drawing. But it also had the closet.
The closet was big and old, made of dark wood that seemed to soak up all the light. Its door was heavy and always felt a little cold to the touch. Leo didn’t keep his clothes in it. He used the dresser instead. He just… didn’t like the closet.
Sometimes, when he was lying in bed at night, and the house was perfectly quiet, he thought he heard things. Faint sounds, like dry leaves skittering across a wooden floor, or fingers tapping softly on glass. He knew it was probably just the house settling, or the wind outside. But sometimes, it sounded like whispers.
Not words he could understand, just a low, rustling sound, like secrets being told in a language he didn’t know. They weren’t scary whispers, like ghosts or monsters. They were just… wrong. Like a sound that didn’t belong.
One night, the whispers were louder than usual. The wind wasn’t blowing, and the house was silent, but the rustling sound from the closet was distinct. It seemed to weave together, forming a strange, unsettling rhythm.
Leo pulled his blanket up to his chin, his eyes fixed on the dark wooden door of the closet. The whispers seemed to be coming from right behind it.
They weren’t just rustling tonight. They seemed to have a shape, a pattern. They sounded almost… inviting.
Come closer… the whispers seemed to say, though not with words, but with that dry, scratching sound. Open the door… see what’s inside…
Leo felt a strange pull, a mix of fear and curiosity. He knew he shouldn’t. His mom had told him not to worry about the old closet, that it was just a dusty storage space. But the whispers… they were so insistent tonight.
He swung his legs out of bed, his feet landing softly on the cool floor. He crept across the room, his eyes never leaving the closet door. The whispers grew louder with each step, a dry, rustling chorus urging him forward.
He reached the closet door, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the cold, metal doorknob. The whispers seemed to vibrate through the wood, a low hum beneath the scratching sound.
Open… open… they seemed to say, the rhythm quickening.
Leo hesitated. His heart was pounding. What was inside? Just old boxes and clothes? Or something else?
His hand closed around the doorknob. It was cold and smooth. The whispers peaked, a frantic, urging rustle.
Taking a deep breath, Leo turned the doorknob. It clicked softly. He pulled.
The heavy door creaked open, revealing not the usual dusty interior, but a swirling, inky blackness. It was darker than any shadow he had ever seen, a void that seemed to stretch on forever. And from the depths of the blackness, the whispers poured out, louder now, a dry, scratching symphony that wrapped around him.
Leo stared into the darkness, his mind reeling. This wasn’t his closet. This was something else entirely. And the whispers… they were waiting.
