What The Whispers Say

Eloise Cavendish darted through the city park, her breath coming in sharp gasps as her designer heels clicked against the uneven cobblestone path. She barely registered the pain as her ankles twisted with each hurried step. The whispers—soft, incessant, and maddening—grew louder in her ears, slithering around her thoughts like unwelcome guests. She knew she had to run, though she couldn't quite remember why.

The park was bathed in the soft, golden light of late afternoon, but Eloise barely noticed the way the sun glinted through the autumn leaves. She felt the eyes on her—someone, or something, was watching her. Always watching. The whispers were proof of that. She could feel them burrowing into her skull, swirling into words that didn’t quite make sense.

They know.

They’re coming.

She stumbled, her heel catching on a loose stone, sending her sprawling forward. The skin of her palms scraped against the rough ground, and she winced as she pushed herself up. Eloise’s once-perfect hair was a tangled mess, and the delicate silk of her dress, a custom-made piece from Paris, was streaked with dirt. For a moment, she considered taking off her heels to run faster, but the thought of doing so seemed absurd. Eloise Cavendish didn’t remove her heels for anyone or anything, no matter the circumstances.

As she straightened herself, she glanced around, heart pounding in her chest. The park seemed eerily quiet. There were no joggers, no mothers with strollers, no lovers on benches. It was just her, standing alone amidst the trees. But she knew better. They were there, hiding, watching her every move.

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it more whispers. Eloise pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block them out, but it was useless. The whispers weren't coming from outside; they were inside her head.

They're following me. They're here. Always here.

She began to run again, her heels striking the cobblestones with desperate force. The path twisted and turned through the park, and Eloise couldn't remember if she'd ever been this deep into it before. Everything seemed unfamiliar. The world felt wrong, distorted somehow. The trees, the grass, the very air—it all felt like it was pressing in on her, suffocating her.

She broke through a cluster of trees and found herself standing before a large fountain. Its stone figures loomed over her, grotesque and gnarled, water trickling down their faces like tears. Eloise took a step back, her stomach churning with a sudden wave of nausea. She heard a sound behind her—footsteps, slow and deliberate. Her heart leapt into her throat.

They're here.

She spun around, eyes wide, searching for the source of the noise. But there was no one. Just the park, the fountain, and the endless sea of trees. The footsteps had stopped, but the whispers remained. Always the whispers.

"You can't escape," they told her, cold and mocking. "You know what you did."

Eloise shook her head violently. "No, I don't! I didn’t do anything!" Her voice sounded small and fragile in the vastness of the empty park. Her vision blurred with tears, and she blinked them away furiously. Cavendishes didn’t cry. They were strong, powerful, invulnerable. But she wasn't feeling strong anymore.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fumbled to pull it out with shaking hands. The screen lit up with a text message from an unknown number.

We see you.

A strangled sob escaped her lips, and she dropped the phone, letting it clatter to the ground. Eloise backed away, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. She turned and ran again, pushing through the panic, through the terror, until the park began to blur around her. Her feet felt like they were barely touching the ground. She ran faster than she thought possible, but no matter how fast she went, she couldn't outrun the whispers.

Time passed in a haze—minutes, hours, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that the path had to lead somewhere, that if she kept running, she could escape.

And then, abruptly, the park was gone.

Eloise skidded to a halt, blinking in confusion. She was no longer on the cobblestone path, but on smooth pavement. Before her stood a tall, cold building made of glass and steel, towering over her like a judge preparing to pass sentence. She'd been here before. She recognized the place, though she didn't want to.

No.

She shook her head, stepping back, but her legs felt weak and unsteady. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She had been running, escaping. How had she ended up here?

You know.

Eloise gasped as the whispers clawed at her mind, more insistent now, more real. She collapsed to her knees, hands clutching her head. “Stop!” she screamed. “Please, stop!”

But they didn’t stop. They never stopped.

The sound of the heavy doors behind her creaking open made her ik.freeze. Slowly, she turned her head, eyes wide with terror. Two figures stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the harsh fluorescent lights inside. She couldn’t make out their faces, but she knew they were the ones. They had been following her all along.

Eloise scrambled to her feet, prepared to run again, but her legs refused to obey. She was frozen in place, her body betraying her. The figures stepped forward, slowly, methodically, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the evening.

“Miss Cavendish,” one of them said, their voice cool and clinical, “it’s time to come inside.”

“No!” Eloise backed away, shaking her head wildly. “No, I’m not going back in there! I’m not crazy!”

The figure inched closer. “No one said you were crazy, Miss Cavendish. But you need to come with us. It’s not safe for you out here.”

Eloise’s chest heaved with ragged breaths. She tried to focus on the path behind her, the park, the whispers, anything but the figures in front of her. She just needed to think. If she could think, she could figure out how to escape.

But the park was gone forever.

“No…” she whimpered, her body trembling as she sank to the ground. “No, please…”

“It’s okay,” one of them said softly. “You’re safe here.”

As the orderlies gently guided her down the corridor, flashes of memory assaulted Eloise's mind. The glittering parties, the lines of white powder, the spiral of addiction that had led her here. She remembered now—the charity gala, her public meltdown, the family's desperate attempt to hide her away. What she had thought were whispers of pursuit were really the echoes of her past, the consequences of her choices haunting her every step.

They stopped in front of her door - Room 317. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at it, the whispers now hissing in her ears. She shook her head, stepping back.

“No, not here,” she muttered. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

But they were already pushing the door open. The stark white walls waited for her, cold and indifferent.

She froze in the doorway. The whispers finally spoke as one.

You’ve always been here.

The door closed behind her with a soft inevitable thud.