The Whisper in the Basement
I never had confidence in phantoms — until the previous evening. My family had recently moved into an old house. It accompanied a cellar, one I swore I'd never step into. Something about it felt... off.
Recently, while unloading, I heard it: a weak murmur, practically like my name. "Alex... descend." My heart halted. My folks were higher up, and no other person was home.
Interest got the better of me. With my telephone electric lamp shaking in my grasp, I plunged the squeaking wooden steps. The air turned colder with each step. Then I saw it — scribbled on the dusty wall in what resembled debris: "Get Out At this point."
Before I could respond, once more, the murmur came back, this time right behind me. "Leave... while you can." I turned, my electric lamp flashing, and saw... nothing. However, I felt it — a cool breath on my neck.
I ran. I swear I heard strides pursuing me up the steps. Closing the entryway, I locked it. That evening, I asked my folks to take off from the house, yet they dismissed it.
Today, I found my father gazing at the cellar entryway. It was totally open, however I realize I locked it. He said he assumed he heard me calling him from down there...
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