Whisper Street

No one ever walked on Whisper Street. Too many things had happened, and not enough explanations. It had gotten its name, you know, from what you would hear when walking on that street. A quiet voice, whispering your name with utter care. But, slowly, it becomes ravenous and loud, and you can’t do anything but run. That’s part of the reason why no one ever walked on Whisper Street; all they could do is run.

Of course, there is always someone who breaks rules, such as Tommy Grear 30 years ago, crossing Main Street without an adult. Or, perhaps, Sofia Milson, who played on the playground after hours.

But as for the most strange, unexplained breaking of the rules, was Ritia Rose, the town darling. Not that she was pretty, but she was kind. And smart. And she always watered Crazy Carl’s garden, despite his usual throw of insults.

Ritia Rose, how should I tell her story? Well, for starters, the day started off a brilliant, sapphire blue. But, as the day wore on and the clouds flew in, it lessened into a wispy grey. Fog walked and rested on the town, sitting on the road and buildings and trees.

Rain had entered, but exited quickly, rather leaving the town in a film of dew and humidity than a sea of puddles.

Ritia Rose skipped down the block, living on the feeling of school being over for the day. She had gotten perfect marks on her math test, resulting in the highest grade in the class. She had received a piece of candy, a nickel for the gumball machine, and a gold star for her jacket.

Ritia Rose reached her hand up, rubbing the smooth sticker. Yet another reminder of her intelligence and determination, and the hopefulness that others would strive to be like her. At least, that's what her parents said.

As her feet continued rising and falling on the ground, fog and mist settled on her body. It created a smooth layer of water on her school uniform. Her hair grew damp in its braid, swinging as she bounced. And as she settled into her usual route back home, something unusual occurred.

She hadn’t seen it. The metal sign, complete with a sharpied-out name and a new word written in hastily.

And no one saw her small body disappear into the fog. And she didn’t even know the air she slipped into became denser. She didn’t know that she had taken a wrong turn.

Here is what she did know: someone was saying her name. It was a raspy voice, filled with a kind of soft energy that pulled her in. As Ritia Rose continued onto the empty road, she became aware of the thicker fog. And that no one was here. Usually, on her way home, she saw Sally, her friend. But Sally wasn’t here.

“Sally? Sally, where are you?”

Ritia Rose continued walking. The whispers got louder, slowly. They crawled into her ears and planted themselves in her head. But she didn’t run. She didn’t feel the need. Instead of skipping, she slowed to a walk.

No one walked on Whisper Street.

But she didn’t know she was on Whisper Street. And soon, she was up to her eyeballs in loud whispers and fog. It nipped at her cheeks, grabbed her arms, pulled her hair. The voices, they began to scream. They took turns, alternating between ‘Ritia’ and ‘Rose.’

“RITIA!”

“ROSE!”

“RITIA!”

“ROSE!”

They echoed in her head, and her heart raced. Trees rippled and shook in fear. The road seemed to crawl and wave in anticipation.

In anticipation of what? Ritia Rose asked. But her answer came soon.

The town heard the scream.

As soon as it started, it stopped. People began running toward Whisper Street, not walking, because that would break the rule. The fog was gone. All that was left was a nice tree-lined street, welcoming and bright. Suddenly, the sun was out. The rain was gone. The dew disappeared. And, of course, Ritia Rose was nowhere to be found.

Most of the town, although sad, chalked it up to broken rules. So, with this, more rules were set in place. Some examples:

Rule 158: No eating a ham and cheese sandwich after dark on the silver park bench on Right Street.

And

Rule 224: Don’t microwave a hot dog on the second Monday of April.

More were installed, but none were as important as Rule 1: Don’t walk on Whisper Street.

Now, you would think the story of poor Ritia Rose and her foggy day would end here. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not. Her story isn't quite over, despite the idea that she is dead.

Now, it was a sunny day in town, and everyone had forgotten about the ill-fated Ritia Rose. Everyone except her parents, but they had already moved out of town after no one had had the idea to investigate her disappearance. And everyone had decided not to investigate except for a short, thin girl named Hally.

Hally, as mentioned, was extremely short. She had pin-straight blonde hair cut to her shoulders and purple glasses that sat on her nose like a monk on a rock. She had an inhaler strapped to her belt and always a notebook and pin in her bag. She had two friends, Randy and Grace, and they were equally as weird.

After Ritia Rose’s disappearance, they decided to become the investigators. After school, they walked on down to the entrance to Whisper Street and one by one ran up and down the street, looking for clues.

As expected, they didn’t find anything.

“Ugh, come on! Why can’t we find anything?” Hally said, sitting on the road and taking out her inhaler and a juice box. She swallowed a pump of medicined air and then took a sip of apple juice. Grace sat to her left and Randy sat to her right, taking out their own juice boxes in varying flavors.

“Well, what are we going to do?” Grace asked, tossing her grape juice box to Randy. Randy shrugged and took the juice box, smashing it flat in his hands and stuffing it in his backpack.

“I didn’t want to do this, but we might have to,” Hally said, standing up.

“We are going to have to…walk…on Whisper Street.”

Grace and Randy froze, and then nodded. “Yes, we have to do it,” Randy answered, standing along with Hally. Grace stood.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

They took hands and, with great caution and determination, stepped onto Whisper Street.

One step.

Two steps.

Three.

Four.

Slowly, the group walked along Whisper Street, looking everywhere. Nothing came up. Nothing seemed out of place, at least that they had noticed.

“We are getting nowhere,” Grace said, letting go of Hally and slumping to the floor.

“Grace, we gotta keep moving. What if something happens?” Hally responded, walking over to Grace. “Come on, get up.”

After a bit, Grace grabbed Hally’s hands and allowed herself to be pulled up.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Hally and Grace spun around. Left, right, up, down, diagonals in all directions. Behind, in front. Randy was gone.

“Um…Randy? Randy? Where are you?” Hally said, looking around. She stepped forward a few steps. “Randy?”

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

“Grace? Grace!”

Hally looked around. Neither of her friends were there. They both were gone.

Hally sunk to the ground, putting her hands over her ears and her knees to her elbows. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh…”

Suddenly, it started.

“Hally.”

“Hally.”

“Hallyyy.”

“Hally!”

“HALLY!”

“HALLY!”

Hally looked around, hoping to find the source of the sound. She kept her hands over her ears. “Come out! I’m not scared of you,” she said, despite the trembling in her bones.

And come out it did. Suddenly, people emerged from the trees. Tourists, locals, adults, children. Ritia Rose. Randy. Grace.

Here is what these people looked like: Many, or the older ones, had vines and grass and dirt patched to their skin. Their eyes glowed an illuminant green. Their clothes were tattered. It showed that they lived in the woods. The newer ones, like Ritia Rose (told you you’d see her again), Randy, and Grace, had only a little grass and dirt, and their clothes were still intact. But their eyes, their eyes already glowed green.

Hally stepped back and fell. She couldn’t reach her inhaler, which had unclipped a few feet away. They were closing in. It was getting dark. And, strangely, a fog was setting in.

“HALLY!”

“HALLY!”

They were getting closer. Grace tripped and began crawling across the road, which seemed faster in hindsight. Her fingers were just scraping Hally’s light-up purple sketchers when a rain broke out.

And suddenly, the bodies that had been moving to drag Hally into the trees were writhing in pain, seeming to melt as water pelted their bodies. Hally scrambled for her inhaler, coughing in a burst of air. She sat back on her heels, breathing heavily as she watched green people turn into puddles. The rain hit her face, seeming refreshing in the air of early May. She was grateful for the rain, since it had meant her survival. But, the weight of friendlessness pushed on her shoulders.

Solemnly, Hally stood up, mourning the loss of Grace and Randy. She could make out which blobs they were: a slightly purple Grace (from her clothes) and a puddle of Randy sprinkled with orange hair. Hally picked up the rest of her things and got ready, before running down Whisper Street.