Chapter 2: The First Whisper
Anaya sat at the desk in the study room of Dr. Mehra’s abandoned home, laptop open beside
her, screen casting a faint glow on mahogany. She had begun scanning the disorganized papers
she’d discovered an hour before but one object stood out amongst the haphazardly arranged
journals and old maps on the shelf: A leather bound notebook- ancient, old, worn and
somehow eerily out of place—was half buried under a stack of papers.
Her heart quickened as she reached for it. It felt cold against her hand, as if the air around it
had cooled a few degrees the moment she touched it. She paused for a moment, looking back
down the darkened hallway to the other parts of the house. Wind howled faintly outside, a soft
moaning that almost sounded like whispers. Anaya tried to brush it off and focus.
This must be important, she murmured to herself as she trailed her fingers over the silky cover
of the book.
The journal emitted a faint fragrance of damp earth and moss that crept through the musty air
in the study as she opened it. She wrote neatly, deliberately; and an undertone of urgency
clings to every page with increasing heaviness. The entries looked pretty disconnected at first
with the scrawls for his notes, weather records, and whatnot; however, something darker takes
its form as she browses the pages on.
The first few entries were very mundane. Discussions of local weather patterns, interviews with
locals in Blackridge, and observations about the town itself. However, as she read further, the
entries grew more intense, more fragmented, as if the author were losing control of his
thoughts.
An Entry from July 12th
“…I returned to the location today, and the obsidian relic is like nothing I have ever seen. A
smooth, black statue, smaller than my palm, but it hums with a vibration that feels alive. The
symbols etched into its surface are ancient, older than any language I have studied before. I felt
it calling me, as if it were alive in a way that I could not explain.”
She had stopped here. It was cryptic, and didn’t require even a second look to infer one thing the relic. Dr Mehra was absolutely obsessional over this piece. She pondered whether what had
stirred such fever within him must have been uncovered by him.
She ran down the page now as fingers were now shaking.
“.The markings on this relic coincide with the artifacts I unearthed at Sumerian last year. It is
not a coincidence. A connection… but I fear I don’t grasp the extent of it. The figures I see when
I close my eyes—shadows moving, forms rising—are devouring me. I feel a presence at the site,
near the woods, near the ancient ruin. I can’t help but feel I am not alone.”.
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Anaya froze, her own breathing sounding loud in her chest as she absorbed the words.
Shadows. Presence. Anxiety pricked at the edges of her mind as she remembered the locals’
weirdly serious warnings earlier that day.
The journal went on, its entries getting steadily crazier.
“…They are watching. I know they are watching. I hear them at night—whispering, always
whispering. They speak in a language I cannot recognize. I fear the relic, I fear the power it
holds, but more than that, I fear what will happen if I continue this research. I feel as if I am
digging too deep, and that I am unearthing something that should never have been disturbed.”
The words seemed to send a shiver running through Anaya, her fingers clamping tightly around
the notebook. She had a gut feeling she was in much deeper than she could have ever thought.
Her fears were present with each word of the doctor. Yet, at the same time, she didn’t try to
tear herself away from the journal.
She scanned down the entry dates. These writings weren’t random. Dr. Mehra’s descent into
paranoia seemed to be mirroring an increasing obsession with the temple and its relics along
with whatever ancient history they were tied into.
Anaya closed the journal with her hand. There wasn’t any ease of emotion to dispel the building
feeling of discomfort she was holding onto. She set the book down on the desk; already open
on it sat her laptop. Perhaps, some relationships between the texts from Sumer, or even a local
pattern; perhaps some hint in the artifacts themselves. But as she went to click the window
open and get the search underway, something stayed her.
A whisper.
Not very loud but clear nonetheless.
Her name.
“Anaya.
She held her breath and sat frozen in her chair, eyes staring to the door at her back. She could
feel her heartbeat pounding, her chest tightening. The noise was from inside the study, or
perhaps from deeper into the house.
She looked down towards the hallway again, her hand hovering over her laptop, her fingers
shaking a little. “Hello?” she called out, strong but unsure.
Nothing.
The sound was gone.
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Her heart dropped, but she reassured herself that it was just the wind, a draft, some settling of
the house into the cold, fog-heavy night. She breathed in deep, steadying her hands, and tried
to shake off the tension.
“Must’ve been my imagination,” she muttered.
But no sooner had the words escaped her lips than it came again.
“Anaya.”
This time the voice was clearer. Low, raspy, and cold. It made goosebumps on her skin.
Anaya spun around, her eyes locking onto the study’s narrow, dimly lit doorway. The hallway
was empty, with only shadows cast by the dim glow of the laptop screen. There was no one
there, but her body wouldn’t let go.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk as if to anchor herself, and she took a shaky breath.
“Who is there?” she demanded, her voice firmer this time, her training kicking in.
Silence again.
But she felt it—a heavy presence, as though unseen eyes watched her. She reached for her
phone, snapped on the flashlight, and turned it in the direction of the hall. The beam of light cut
through the shadows, showing faint outlines of a dark corner. There was nothing there, just
wooden floorboards and faint dust marks.
Her shoulders slumped a little, but she didn’t dare to relax completely.
She decided she wouldn’t let fear overpower her. It’s just the house. Settling noises.
Unexplained sounds. People have always heard things when they’re alone in places like this.
She repeated that to herself, but something about the voice lingered.
She picked up the journal again, and began flipping through to the last few entries. No warnings
there, no immediate clues as to what she might have heard. But she could not dismiss the
relationship between what he’d described—visions, paranoia, whispers—and what she was
experiencing.
Thoughts swam. Had Dr. Mehra unearthed something buried so deep that it now had a
presence in his research? Or was it something older, something tied to the ancient temple
itself?
The questions swirled in her head as she closed the journal once more and pushed it across the
desk. She glanced again over at her computer, but those words on the screen felt cold and far
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away. Her heart continued drumming within her chest; her body felt cold and colder than it
ought to for the heat of the study.
She had only just sat there a minute before the other sound came, soft this time: the ringing of
something metallic, faintly rhythmic.
The chinking of anklets.
She caught her breath, frozen in her throat. It sounded as if it were coming from a distance –
perhaps outside, in the misty trees.
“Is this real?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.
It sounded a little longer, then was over.
And the whispers came again.
This time louder.
“Anaya.”.
She knew that night would bring no peace