MidReal Story
Whispers in the Shadows
Scenario: Awoken, startled and afraid, Miles glanced around the room. The shadows frolicking and danced about the walls like tiny imps and goblins.
Create my version of this story
The house was old, and the night was dark.
Miles Thompson had never been so alone in his life.
He’d been alone before, of course, but never like this.
Never in a place that seemed to be alive with strange noises and shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.
He’d woken up in the middle of the night, disoriented and unsure of where he was.
It took him a moment to remember that he was in the old house, and another moment to realize that it was the strange noises that had woken him up.
He lay there for a while, listening to the creaks and groans of the old building, trying to convince himself that it was just his imagination.
But then he heard something else—a soft whispering sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby.
He sat up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest, and looked around the room.
It was too dark to see anything clearly, but he could make out the shape of the window on the far wall, and the door on the opposite side of the room.
He lay back down, his heart still racing, and tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
There was no one in the house but him.
The whispering sound was probably just the wind, or a branch scraping against the window.
It was probably nothing.
But then he heard it again—the soft whispering sound, like someone speaking in hushed tones, just a few feet away from him.
He sat up again, his eyes wide with fear, and looked around the room.
He still couldn’t see anything, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and his skin breaking out in goosebumps.
There was definitely something there, he was sure of it.
He just didn’t know what.
He sat there for a long time, listening to the silence, waiting for something to happen.
But nothing did.
Miles woke up with a start.
His heart was pounding in his chest, and his body was shaking with fear and adrenaline.
He’d had a nightmare—a bad one.
But it was over now.
It was just a dream.
The room was dark, but there was enough light filtering through the curtains that he could make out the shape of the window on the far wall, and the door on the opposite side of the room.
The moon was bright tonight, and there was a full moon, he remembered.
That was probably why he’d had such a vivid dream.
It had seemed so real.
He got up to go to the bathroom, and nearly fell over when his foot hit something on the floor.
He bent down to see what it was, and saw that it was a small pile of books that had fallen off the shelf next to his bed.
He must have knocked them over in his sleep.
He picked them up and put them back on the shelf, then went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face.
He felt better now.
The remnants of the dream were still clinging to him, but he pushed them away and went back to bed.
It took him a long time to fall asleep, but eventually he did.
When he woke up again, it was still dark outside.
He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm himself down so he could go back to sleep.
But for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right—that something was off about the room.
The silence felt heavy around him, almost suffocatingly so, broken only by the sound of his own breathing and the thumping of his heart.
And then he heard it—a soft whispering sound coming from somewhere nearby.
His blood turned to ice in his veins, and he lay there for a moment, listening intently as the voice whispered his name again—so softly that he almost didn’t hear it this time—and then fell silent once more.
He listened for a moment, straining his ears to catch any sound that might give away the source of the voice.
But the room was silent now.
There was no more whispering, no more voices, nothing but the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest.
He lay there for what felt like an eternity, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.
The voice was gone, and the room was still.
And yet, the sense of unease that had settled over him refused to go away.
He felt like he was being watched, like there was something in the room with him, something that was waiting for him to make a move.
He tried to shake the feeling off, telling himself that it was just his imagination, that there was nothing to be afraid of.
But the fear wouldn’t go away.
It clung to him like a dark cloud, enveloping him in its cold embrace and squeezing the air out of his lungs.
He tried to push it away, to force it out of his mind, but it was no use.
The more he tried to ignore it, the stronger it got.
It was like a hand closing around his throat, cutting off his air supply and squeezing tighter with each passing moment.
He lay there for what felt like hours, trying to catch his breath, but the fear wouldn’t let go.
It held on tight, refusing to be ignored or forgotten or pushed aside.
It was like a living thing, with a mind and will of its own.
And it was winning.
Miles didn’t know what to do.
He’d never felt this way before—this out of control, this helpless, this scared.
He didn’t understand where the fear was coming from, or what had caused it to take hold of him so completely.
All he knew was that it was there, and that it wasn’t going away on its own.
And then, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He sat up in bed, his heart pounding so hard that he could feel it in his throat.
The air was thick with the smell of old wood and dust.
A floorboard creaked somewhere in the darkness.
Miles reached out blindly and fumbled for his phone.
He needed to do something—anything—to distract himself from this overwhelming sense of doom before it swallowed him whole.
He pulled the phone out from under his pillow and hit the power button, praying that the battery was still charged enough to turn on.
The screen lit up, casting a bluish glow over the room, and he squinted against the sudden light as the phone came to life.
He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the brightness, and then looked at the screen.
There was only one name on his contact list that he wanted to call right now, only one person who might be able to help him feel better about this whole situation.
He hesitated for just a moment, then tapped the screen, and listened as the phone rang through the darkness, the sound loud and urgent in the otherwise silent room.
“I’m not sure that’s really how it works,” she said, “but it’s an interesting idea.” Her voice was warm and soothing, like a cup of hot chocolate, or a hug on a cold day, or whatever other metaphor you wanted to use to describe something that was comforting and made you feel better when you were scared out of your mind.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Miles said, “but what do I know?I’m not exactly an expert on this stuff.”
“Well, neither am I,” she said, “but I think it’s fascinating, don’t you?
The idea that there might be some kind of energy or force or whatever that we can’t see, can’t explain, can’t even really understand… It’s like a mystery that we’re not supposed to solve.”
Miles thought about that for a moment, feeling his fear start to recede as he lost himself in the conversation with his friend, who was smart and funny and beautiful, and who shared his fascination with all things weird and creepy and supernatural.
“I don’t know if I’d say we’re not supposed to solve it,” he said finally, “but I see what you’re saying.It’s like… I don’t know.It’s like we’re trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.”
“Exactly!” she said.
“That’s exactly it!”
Miles smiled to himself, feeling better than he had since he woke up from that terrible dream.
“Hey, have you ever heard of the Black-Eyed Kids?”
She asked suddenly.
Miles felt his smile disappear.
He sat up a little straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake again.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I mean, I’ve heard of them.I’m not sure how much I believe…”
“Oh, come on,” she said.
“You can’t tell me that the story of the Black-Eyed Kids isn’t at least a little bit creepy.”
Miles had to admit that she had a point.
The story was definitely creepy.
It was also probably fake.
“Well, yeah,” he said.
“I guess it is.But you have to admit it’s pretty far-fetched.”
“I suppose it is,” she said.
Miles could tell from her voice that she wasn’t convinced.
But he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t really scared—not like he was—and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin the mood.
“Do you have any other good ones?”
He asked instead.
She was quiet for a moment.
“Well…”
She said finally.
“There’s one I read about on this paranormal forum I follow.”
Miles felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand up as he waited for her to continue.
It wasn’t like Sarah to get all serious like this, or to tell scary stories in the middle of the night, especially when she knew how freaked out he was feeling.
But he didn’t want to interrupt her to tell her any of this—didn’t want to break the spell of the story she was telling—so he kept his mouth shut and waited for her to go on.
“Basically,” she said finally, “this guy bought an old camera at a garage sale or something like that.”
“He put it on his shelf and went to bed, but sometime in the middle of the night he woke up to this weird scratching sound coming from somewhere in his house.”
She paused for just a second, giving Miles the chance to jump in if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
“All his lights were off,” she continued, “but when he looked at the shelf where he’d put the camera, it was glowing this bright green color in the dark.