Whispers in the Shadows

In a village lost to time, where the moon's light fades,

Lies a secret deep and dark, beneath the forest glades.

Whispers drift on chilling winds, through the ancient oaks,

Echoing the silent screams, of terror's cruel jokes.

Beneath the canopy of leaves, where shadows intertwine,

Lies a house forgotten long, covered now with vine.

Windows broken, doors ajar, a ghostly, haunted shell,

Inside its walls, the whispers rise, casting a dreadful spell.

Long ago, a family dwelled, in this forsaken place,

Their laughter now a distant dream, replaced by death's cold embrace.

A tragedy, a horror night, when the full moon shone bright,

Tore their lives asunder, turned their days to endless night.

The villagers, they tell the tale, in hushed and fearful tones,

Of how the family vanished, leaving whispers, blood, and bones.

A scream was heard at midnight, a cry that chilled the air,

And from that night, the shadows spoke, a tale of deep despair.

Children play in daylight hours, but fear the dusk’s descent,

For when the sun dips low and red, the air is malevolent.

A voice calls out, soft and sweet, then turns to a shriek,

Calling to the brave and bold, the curious and the meek.

The shadows in the forest move, with life of their own,

They beckon with a spectral grace, towards the house of stone.

The whispers grow, a cacophony, a symphony of dread,

Echoing through the silence, filling hearts with lead.

An old man tells the story best, his eyes clouded with years,

He speaks of nights when he was young, and faced his deepest fears.

He ventured to the haunted house, when dared by foolish friends,

And what he saw, what he heard, his courage did transcend.

In the darkened halls he walked, with lantern casting light,

The whispers grew, they called his name, they filled him with fright.

A shadow moved, a figure blurred, it seemed to float on air,

And in that moment, he knew well, he was in the devil's lair.

A woman’s voice, soft and low, whispered in his ear,

“Leave this place, while you can, before the dead draw near.”

He turned and fled, his heart a drum, pounding in his chest,

And vowed to never speak of it, to leave the dead to rest.

But the whispers, they continued, in the village and the glen,

Haunting dreams and waking thoughts, haunting every den.

No one dared to venture forth, when the night was nigh,

For fear the shadows' whispers, would call them forth to die.

Yet legends have a way of drawing, the curious and the brave,

To test the bounds of sanity, and risk a nameless grave.

One night a group of youths set out, with courage in their stride,

Determined to uncover, what the shadows tried to hide.

They walked into the forest deep, their torches casting beams,

The whispers grew around them, like a nightmare in their dreams.

The house loomed large, a spectral sight, against the moonlit sky,

And as they crossed the threshold, the shadows seemed to sigh.

Inside the air was thick and cold, the whispers louder still,

They echoed off the crumbling walls, and climbed the window sill.

A voice spoke clear, amidst the din, “Leave while you have time,”

But the leader of the group pressed on, ignoring the ghostly chime.

In the heart of the house they stood, where shadows danced and played,

And in that place, they saw a sight, that made their courage fade.

A spectral family, frozen in time, caught in their last embrace,

Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape, in terror's cold grimace.

The leader stepped forward, his voice a shaking plea,

“What happened here, who did this to you, what do you want from me?”

The shadows swirled, the whispers hushed, and then a figure spoke,

A ghostly man, his face a mask, of sorrow and of hope.

“We were cursed, on that fateful night, by a witch’s spiteful hand,

She envied us our happiness, our home, our fertile land.

She whispered words of dark despair, that twisted fate and time,

And now we haunt these hollow walls, for a never-ending crime.”

The youths stepped back, their hearts a storm, of pity, fear, and dread,

The shadows whispered once again, around the living and the dead.

“Leave this place,” the ghost implored, “before you too are trapped,

By the whispers in the shadows, by the evil that’s enwrapped.”

They fled the house, they fled the night, they fled the haunted glade,

And from that day, the whispers ceased, the shadows seemed to fade.

The village found its peace again, the darkness lost its hold,

And Elara’s tale became a myth, in stories often told.

But sometimes in the dead of night, when the moon is full and bright,

A whisper drifts upon the wind, and chills the heart with fright.

For though the curse was lifted, and the shadows lost their might,

The memory of the haunted house, still lingers in the night.