Chapter 3: Room 313
The hallway was too quiet. Helena's footsteps echoed against the polished hospital floor as she descended the stairs back into the psychiatric wing. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she couldn't rest. Not until she knew what the hell was happening inside Room 313.
The night before, the man in the window vanished the moment she blinked. The text messages stopped. But the silence… the silence was louder than the whispers had ever been.
She passed the nurses' station. No one noticed her. Or perhaps they were pretending not to. As if Room 313 didn't exist.
She stopped outside its door.
It looked like every other room — white paint, steel knob, number plate. But the air around it was colder. Stiller. Like it was holding its breath.
Helena unlocked the door with her keycard. It clicked, but the door resisted.
She pushed harder. It groaned open.
Inside: empty bed. White walls. Standard monitoring equipment. And yet… she felt watched.
She stepped in.
The temperature dropped sharply. Her breath misted.
Then the door slammed shut behind her.
She spun. Pulled. Locked.
The overhead light flickered.
In the corner of the room, the padded wall had a tear — like something had clawed its way out. From inside.
She walked toward it slowly. Her fingers brushed the torn fabric.
Thump.
She jerked back. The thump came again — this time from inside the wall.
She placed her ear to it.
"Helena..." a voice whispered.
She stumbled back, heart racing. No one knew she was here.
The wall pulsed.
Then her phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN: "Look up."
She looked.
Above her, written in red across the ceiling:
"HELENASHOULDNOTHAVEENTERED"
The letters dripped.
She turned to run — but the door was gone.
Not locked.
Gone.
Room 313 had changed.
The walls stretched taller. The floor bent beneath her feet. She wasn't in a hospital room anymore.
She was inside the house.
The one from the drawing.
The one from the whispers.
The House of Whispers had finally let her in.