WHISPERS OF BETRAYAL

Our town never had much to talk about. Nestled in a valley, surrounded by dense forests, it was the kind of place where everyone knew each other's secrets—or thought they did. I had lived there all my life, and nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, until that summer when Anna went missing.

Anna was my best friend, the kind of person who could light up the darkest room. We were inseparable, like two halves of a whole. Her disappearance gnawed at everyone, but no one more than me. I was the last person to see her, under the old oak tree by the abandoned mill. She told me she had found something, something unbelievable. She promised to show me the next day, but she never came.

For weeks, search parties combed through the woods and the mill, but they found nothing. The town grew cold, whispers of dark things began to circulate, and eyes turned suspicious. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

It was late one night, a month after Anna vanished, that I felt it. A tap at my window. I opened it to find a small, crumpled note. It was Anna's handwriting, unmistakable: Come to the mill. Come alone.

I should've been scared, but all I felt was a desperate need to see her again. I slipped out of my house and made my way to the mill. The moon cast an eerie glow, and every rustle of leaves felt like a scream. When I arrived, the mill stood silent, like a giant mausoleum.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and decay. I called out her name, my voice echoing through the empty chambers. A faint sound answered, a whisper of my name from the depths of the basement. I followed it, my heart pounding. The basement was darker than I remembered, and the air grew colder with each step.

At the bottom, I saw her, or what I thought was her. She stood in the corner, her face hidden in the shadows. I rushed to her, but as I drew closer, the air turned to ice, and a horrific smell filled my lungs. It was then that I noticed the eyes.

They were not Anna's eyes. They were black voids, staring into nothing and everything. I froze, unable to move. She, or it, stepped forward, revealing a twisted, grotesque version of my friend. The thing wore her face like a mask, but it was wrong, all wrong.

It spoke, in a voice that was both hers and not hers. It told me of betrayal, of a pact made long ago, broken by my ancestors. The thing needed a soul to break free, and Anna had been chosen. But Anna was strong, too strong, and now it needed another.

Before I could react, it lunged. The pain was immediate, searing through my chest. I felt my life drain away as it whispered its thanks. My last thought was of Anna, and the unbearable betrayal.

The town never found us. The mill was eventually torn down, replaced with something new, something mundane. But sometimes, on cold nights, if you listen closely, you can still hear the whispers of betrayal carried on the wind.

Victor Hal

Venture into the depths of darkness and fear with Victor Hal, your storyteller of haunting secrets and supernatural dread.