Our Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is Whisper. If you decide to write a post based on this week’s prompt, be sure to share your link so everyone can see how you interpreted things! Here’s what I did with it…

The old mansion stood shrouded in darkness at the end of a narrow, winding road. The night was thick with a heavy fog that clung to the gnarled trees like a ghostly shroud. Laura had always been drawn to the mysterious, and this abandoned mansion had whispered its secrets to her from the moment she laid eyes on it.

She had heard the legends, of course. Whispers in the town of Willowbrook claimed that the mansion was cursed, that it was haunted by the vengeful spirit of its former owner, a man named Samuel Blackwood. He had been a recluse, a man of dark secrets, who had lived there in solitude for years before he vanished without a trace. Some said he had gone mad, others that he had made a pact with the devil himself.

Laura had always been a skeptic, and she relished the opportunity to prove the townsfolk wrong. Armed with a flashlight and a notebook, she ventured into the mansion on a chilly October night. Her heart pounded as she crossed the threshold, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking beneath her feet. The air was thick with dust and the smell of decay.

The first thing she noticed was the eerie silence. Not a single sound reached her ears, not even the distant hoot of an owl or the rustle of leaves in the wind. It was as if the mansion held its breath, waiting for something.

Laura explored room after room, her flashlight illuminating the faded grandeur of the past. Once opulent, the mansion was now a decaying relic of a bygone era. She could hear the faint whispers of the past in the creaking of the floorboards and the groaning of the walls.

As she ascended the grand staircase, her flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She paused, her heart racing, and tapped the flashlight, willing it to stay on. When the light finally steadied, Laura continued her ascent, determined to uncover the mansion’s secrets.

The upper floors were even more decrepit than the lower ones. Laura entered a room that had once been a library, its shelves now empty and covered in cobwebs. She ran her fingers over the dusty spines of books long forgotten, and as she did, she heard it—a soft, haunting whisper.

“Leave.”

Laura froze, her breath catching in her throat. She scanned the room, her flashlight revealing nothing but the desolation of the abandoned library. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice trembling.

The whisper came again, more insistent this time. “Leave, or you will never leave.”

Laura’s heart pounded in her chest as fear gripped her. She had always been a rational person, but there was no denying what she had heard. She turned to leave the room, but the door slammed shut with a deafening crash, trapping her inside.

Panic surged through her as she struggled with the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. The air in the room grew colder, and Laura’s breath formed frosty clouds in the dim light. She could feel a malevolent presence in the room with her, something unseen but undeniably there.

The whisper came again, this time a chilling hiss in her ear. “You should have listened.”

Laura’s heart raced as she turned, her flashlight flickering wildly. In the beam of light, she saw a figure, a shadowy silhouette that seemed to defy the laws of nature. It had no form, no features, only a sense of dread and malevolence that hung in the air.

She tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat as the shadowy presence drew closer, its cold, suffocating energy enveloping her. The room seemed to spin, and Laura’s vision blurred as she felt herself being pulled into darkness.

Hours later, the first rays of dawn broke through the mansion’s dusty windows. The abandoned library stood empty, its secrets still hidden. The legend of Samuel Blackwood’s cursed mansion endured, whispered among the townsfolk of Willowbrook.

Laura’s disappearance remained a mystery, a story told in hushed tones around campfires and in late-night conversations. Some believed she had uncovered the truth about the mansion’s curse, while others thought she had become another victim of its malevolent whispers.

And so, the old mansion continued to stand, a silent sentinel in the fog-shrouded night, its secrets buried deep within its decaying walls, waiting for the next curious soul to heed its sinister whisper and venture inside.

Thanks to everyone who participated this week and shared your links! Please visit their blogs, give them a follow, and take a look at how they interpreted the prompt.

Be sure to come back on Wednesday for the next Sunday Scribblings prompt! Encourage other bloggers to challenge themselves with the prompt! Remember that there are no rules for what you write, other than responding to the prompt! You can write fiction, non-fiction, poetry, prose, biography, instruction… it’s all up to you!

Feature Photo by Thomas H.