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Chapter 6 - Chapter 5 “Whispers in the Air”

The doctor stepped out of the emergency room, pulling off his gloves. The Walker family crowded toward him at once.

"How is my boy?" James asked.

"He's out of danger and stable now," the doctor said. "We'll keep him under observation for forty‑eight hours to make sure the fever doesn't return."

Alex's voice cracked a little. "Can we see him?"

"We're moving him to a private room. You'll be able to visit him there."

A few minutes later Angelo was wheeled in. Olivia leaned close, eyes still red.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

Angelo gave a faint smile. "I'm… hungry."

Alex shook his head, smirking. "Looks like you're fine."

Olivia let out a shaky laugh. "Your father will bring something soon."

James rubbed Angelo's hair. "What do you want to eat?"

"The doctor said soft food… so, cake?"

Everyone laughed — even Emma.

"You can't have cake," Alex said. "Soup first."

Angelo frowned. "But cake is soft. And it's food."

Olivia stroked his cheek. "After you recover fully, okay?"

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll wait for the cake."

James went out to fetch soup. Angelo glanced at Emma. "She stopped crying."

"Yeah," Olivia said, rocking her. "She stopped a bit after you were taken to emergency."

Alex stepped closer. "What happened to you? You said you had a terrifying dream."

Angelo's fingers tightened on the bedsheet. "Yeah… it was terrifying. I don't want to talk about it."

"It's fine," Alex said gently. "Just rest."

Olivia squeezed his hand. He nodded.

After a while he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Olivia asked.

"I always make you worry. Dad missed work, Alex missed class…"

Alex and Olivia exchanged a look. Then Alex's voice hardened. "Don't be stupid. You're family. Family looks after each other. My class or Dad's work isn't more important than you."

"Never apologize for this," Olivia added softly.

"… Okay," Angelo murmured.

Forty‑eight hours later, the doctors released him. They found no cause for the fever, only speculated that fear from the dream had triggered it.

Months passed. Angelo turned thirteen, Alex eighteen, and Emma had begun to string random words together. Life seemed to return to normal, though Angelo sometimes felt a lingering unease he couldn't explain — small things that didn't belong, shadows that seemed a little too long, whispers that vanished when he turned to look.

Then, one rainy Friday night, that unease grew heavier. Thunder rolled in the distance like a warning that hadn't yet found its voice. Raindrops tapped against the windows in uneven rhythms, as if the house itself were trying to spell something.

The Game

Angelo sat cross‑legged on his bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Alex leaned against the headboard, lazily scrolling through his phone.

They'd found a strange indie horror game online. Pixel graphics. A glitched‑out name. No reviews. No publisher.

"It's probably garbage," Alex said.

"That's what makes it fun," Angelo smirked.

They downloaded it.

"Let's play in the dark," Alex grinned, flicking off the light. "You'll get scared first."

The game began simply: a low‑resolution hallway, eerie ambient music, clunky controls. The monster looked like a scribble with jagged arms.

They joked. Laughed. Mocked it.

Then they reached Room 17.

As soon as their character walked through the door, the real‑world lights flickered — once, then again, slower, like the house itself was breathing.

They froze.

"Did you see that?" Alex whispered.

Before Angelo could answer, the screen glitched — red lines tearing across the image. The hallway went black. A single message blinked in blood‑red pixels:

He sees you now.

No footsteps. No jump scare. Just that.

Then the screen went blank.

Alex snapped the phone shut and rushed to wake their parents.

When they returned, everything was normal. The game was gone from the phone. Lights steady. Room still. Too still.

"Stop playing so late," James scolded.

"You're feeding each other nightmares," Olivia added, softer but stern.

But the parents didn't see the static flickering in the hallway bulb afterward.

They didn't hear the faint echo of breathing from the unplugged baby monitor.

They didn't notice the goosebumps that wouldn't leave either boy's skin.

Later that night, in the dark, Angelo whispered: "That… wasn't normal."

Alex stayed silent a long time. Then: "We'll delete it in the morning."

But the game was gone.

Not in downloads. Not in history. Not in data logs.

Like it had never existed at all.

A Quiet House

One quiet afternoon, the family went to Alex's school for a weekend event. Angelo stayed home to watch Emma.

She was barely a year old. A soft blanket and her stuffed bee were all she needed.

After she fell asleep, Angelo went for a quick shower, leaving the bathroom door open. Steam fogged the mirror.

He closed his eyes for only a moment… and felt it.

Movement.

Something darted into Emma's room.

His chest seized.

He bolted from the bathroom, water dripping, heart pounding.

The room was still.

Emma asleep, breathing softly, fingers curled around the bee.

Nothing there.

But the hallway mirror caught a smudge — faint, humanoid. When he blinked, it was gone.

He never told anyone.

The Singing Toy

Later that week, the family gathered in the living room. TV murmuring a late‑night comedy. Emma on the rug.

One of her old toys — a rubber elephant with a broken speaker — lit up and began singing.

No one touched it.

It hadn't worked in months.

But there it was, blaring its off‑key lullaby.

James chuckled. "Huh. Must've kicked in again."

No one else laughed.

The batteries had been removed weeks ago.

The Shadow

Two nights later, Angelo and Alex sat on the floor playing board games. Emma crawled nearby.

Then Alex froze. "Angelo. Look at the wall."

A thin shadow curled there like a tendril. Small as a finger. Smooth. Wrong.

No lamp. No angle. No source.

Angelo reached out, laying his hand over it.

It didn't distort. It didn't move. It clung beneath his palm like ink soaked into paint.

They called for their mother.

Olivia arrived. By the time she entered, the shadow was gone.

She smiled, tired. "You boys need to sleep more."

They didn't argue.

The Flickering Ball

That same night, after midnight, Alex got up for water.

In the hallway, Emma's LED toy ball — the one that only lit when shaken — was glowing faintly.

He paused. It pulsed red. Then green. Slow. Deliberate.

He walked past without a word.

The moment he climbed back into bed, the light flickered again.

Once.

Twice.

Then stopped.

He didn't sleep easily.

These things weren't loud. They weren't violent.

They didn't leave bruises.

But they were wrong.

Too subtle to prove. Too real to forget.

They were the beginning of something creeping just beyond the veil of normal.

A quiet presence.

A whisper behind the curtains.

A shadow that arrived before the storm.

And every night, Angelo felt it more.

Not in the walls. Not in the house.

In himself.

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