Night fell faster than Akira expected.
The town transformed the moment the sun dipped below the mountains. What little warmth had existed during the day vanished, replaced by a suffocating cold that clung to his skin like damp cloth. Akira sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the darkened window of his room, listening.
The house creaked.
Not the normal creaks of an old building settling—no, this was different. These sounds had rhythm. Purpose.
He hadn't slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.
The shadow at the top of the stairs.
The whisper saying his name.
"Akira…"
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Get a grip, he told himself. You just moved. New place. New stress.
Still… his instincts screamed that something was wrong.
Downstairs, the old clock in the living room ticked loudly.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each second felt heavier than the last.
Suddenly—
A thud echoed from outside.
Akira flinched and stood, heart racing. He approached the window cautiously and peeked through the curtain.
The street was empty.
Fog drifted lazily between houses, swallowing the dim glow of the lone streetlamp. But something lay near the sidewalk.
A shape.
It looked like… a shoe.
Akira's breath caught in his throat.
He grabbed his jacket and flashlight and stepped outside, the cold biting immediately. His footsteps sounded unnaturally loud as he approached the object.
It was a shoe.
Still warm.
And attached to it—
A leg.
Akira stumbled back with a gasp.
A man lay sprawled on the pavement, eyes wide open, mouth frozen in a silent scream. His face was twisted in absolute terror, veins bulging, as if fear itself had killed him.
Akira covered his mouth, stomach churning 🤢.
There were no wounds.
No blood.
Just terror.
Neighbors began to emerge, whispers spreading like wildfire.
"Another one…"
"It happened again…"
"He heard it too…"
Akira turned sharply. "Heard what?"
An old woman grabbed his sleeve with shaking hands. Her eyes were sunken, haunted.
"The whispers," she said. "They always hear the whispers first."
Police arrived, but they looked nervous. Too nervous. Like this wasn't new.
"This is the third death this month," one officer muttered.
Third.
Akira's chest tightened.
That night, he couldn't sleep at all.
The whispers returned.
Soft.
Persistent.
Mocking.
"Akira…"
"Akira…"
They crawled along the walls, slid under the door, brushed against his ears.
He covered his head with a pillow.
Silence.
Then—
A tap on the window.
He froze.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Slow. Deliberate.
His flashlight trembled as he pointed it at the glass.
Nothing.
Then the reflection changed.
Behind him—
A shadow stood in the corner of the room.
Tall.
Too tall.
Its shape flickered, like smoke trying to imitate a human form. No face. No eyes. Just darkness.
Akira screamed and spun around.
The corner was empty.
His breathing came in ragged gasps.
From outside, another scream echoed through the night.
This one wasn't his.
Sirens followed shortly after.
By morning, the town buzzed with panic.
A schoolgirl had gone missing.
Last seen walking home.
Neighbors claimed they heard her talking to someone.
Someone who wasn't there.
Akira sat in class later that day, barely hearing the teacher's voice. Students whispered nervously. Some cried.
Mio Tanaka leaned toward him. "You feel it too, right?"
Akira looked at her sharply. "Feel what?"
She swallowed. "Like… something is watching us."
The classroom lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the whisper came.
Not loud.
Not soft.
Clear.
"Akira…"
Everyone froze.
"Did you hear that?" someone whispered.
The teacher frowned. "Hear what?"
Only a few students exchanged terrified looks.
Akira felt cold dread sink into his bones.
It's choosing.
That night, Akira found scratch marks on his bedroom wall.
Long.
Deep.
Like claws.
And written beneath them, carved into the wood:
YOU HEAR ME NOW
The whisper came one last time, right behind his ear.
"Soon."
Akira didn't scream this time.
He knew.
This was only the beginning.