In the quiet village of Greyhollow, nestled between fog-covered hills and whispering woods, lived a girl named Elira. From the moment she was born, there was something… unnatural about her. Her eyes—gray and glassy—rarely blinked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. And wherever she went, silence followed.
She lived in an old creaking house with her parents, who were never seen outside after sunset. Some villagers believed her mother was once a healer, and her father a priest who had abandoned the church after Elira’s birth. They became reclusive, their windows always covered, the smell of strange herbs wafting into the streets.
Then, one icy November morning, the house fell eerily silent—even by Greyhollow standards.
When the neighbors noticed the chimney hadn’t smoked in two days, a few brave souls entered. What they found chilled their blood more than the frost.
Elira was sitting at the kitchen table, still as stone, sipping cold tea from a cracked porcelain cup. Her long dark hair fell over her face. She did not speak. She did not blink.
She simply looked up… and smiled.
Upstairs, her parents were found in bed. But not asleep.
Their bodies lay perfectly still.
Their eyes wide open.
Their mouths frozen mid-scream.
No signs of struggle. No wounds. No blood.
Just pure, paralyzing terror.
When asked what happened, Elira finally spoke.
Her voice was soft. Too soft.
“They tried to silence it,” she said, calmly.
“But it speaks through me now.”
No one understood. No one dared to ask more.
Some say she was possessed by something ancient—older than the village itself.
Others claim she was the last in a bloodline cursed to carry a voice from the void—a whisper that kills.
The house was sealed. But Elira was never taken away.
She still lives there.
At dusk, villagers say you can see her silhouette in the window… and if you stand too long,
you’ll hear it—
A whisper.
Right behind you.
But when you turn…
There’s nothing there.
