Whispers Beneath The Floor

Daniel gripped the steering wheel tighter as the rain intensified, turning the highway into a mirror of black water. The wipers slapped rhythmically, struggling to clear the windshield fast enough. It was the kind of night that made the world feel smaller, reduced to the dim glow of headlights and the muffled hum of the engine.

He hadn't been back to Ashwood in nearly twenty years. Not since he left. Not since that night.

The town sat nestled in the valley like a secret, surrounded by dense forests that swallowed the roads whole. The highway signs had changed since he was a boy, but the exit was still there—Exit 17, Ashwood, Oak Hollow, Fairview. The same battered green sign, now rusted at the edges. He flicked on his turn signal and eased onto the off-ramp.

His heart pounded, an old reflex. It was just a town. Just roads and houses and people. Nothing more.

But memory didn’t work that way.

### The First Turn

The streets were emptier than he remembered, but then again, it was late. A few dim porch lights glowed behind rain-blurred glass, and the old general store on Maple Street was still standing—its faded sign now hanging by one rusted chain. A few blocks down, he spotted the diner. The same one that used to serve cherry pie on Sundays after church. He wondered if it still did.

The road curved sharply ahead, the way it always had. His hands moved instinctively on the wheel.

Then he saw the sign.

**Oak Hollow Road.**

His stomach twisted. He should have taken the long way around.

But something pulled him forward.

### The House on Oak Hollow

Daniel hadn't seen the house in two decades, but in his mind, it had never changed. The old Victorian sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, its silhouette stark against the weeping sky. It had been abandoned for years, even when he was a child.

He slowed the car to a crawl. The iron gate was still there, rusted through, leaning slightly to the right. Beyond it, the overgrown yard stretched into darkness. The windows of the house were hollow eyes, black and watching.

He shouldn’t stop.

But he did.

The car door groaned as he stepped out. His shoes sank into wet gravel. Rain dripped from the eaves, tapping against the porch railing. He swallowed, tasting metal.

Daniel took a step forward. Then another.

The porch creaked beneath his weight, just as it always had. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers trembling, but the door wasn’t locked. It swung open with a breathless sigh.

The air inside was thick, stagnant. The scent of damp wood and something deeper—something forgotten. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the threshold.

And then, a whisper.

Not words. Just the sound of something moving in the dark.

### The House’s Past

Ashwood had always had its share of ghost stories, but none lingered like the tale of the house on Oak Hollow Road. It wasn’t just haunted, the way old houses sometimes were. It was worse than that.

People swore the house was wrong.

Long before the Whitakers, it had belonged to the Graves family in the late 1800s. They were one of Ashwood’s wealthiest families, known for their elaborate parties and their reclusive youngest son, Elias.

Elias Graves was odd, even by the town’s standards. He rarely left the house, seen only through the upstairs windows at night. Some claimed he was sick, others that he had gone mad. His father, Samuel Graves, spoke little of him. When asked, he would simply say, “Some things are best kept behind locked doors.”

Then, in 1893, the family disappeared.

The house was left abandoned. A few distant relatives attempted to sell it, but every buyer backed out before signing the final papers. Strange noises echoed from the halls at night. A man hired to board up the windows swore he heard footsteps inside, even though the doors were locked. A woman who had once worked as a maid for the Graves family claimed she saw Elias Graves standing at the upstairs window, watching her, though by then, he should have been long dead.

Decades passed. The house rotted, untouched, until the Whitakers moved in.

They lasted longer than the Graves family had. Almost ten years.

And then, just like before, they vanished.

Some houses weren’t meant to hold families.

Some houses wanted something else.

### Daniel’s Missing Memories

As Daniel stood in the decaying house, the memories hit like a landslide, too fast, too heavy. He clutched the doorframe, his breath ragged.

He had been here before.

Not just that night in the basement. Not just once.

Again and again.

His mother had tried to keep him away, but he had always found his way back. He was drawn to it, the way a moth is drawn to flame, unable to resist even though it burned.

The whispers had started when he was eight. Faint, curling at the edges of his dreams. At first, they were just murmurs, like a conversation in another room. Then they became clearer.

*"Come see."*

*"Come home."*

He hadn’t been afraid. Not at first. The voice was familiar. Safe.

Because it sounded like him.

At ten, he had finally gone inside. He had stood at the top of the basement stairs, his small hands gripping the railing, staring into the dark below.

And something had stared back.

### The Final Confrontation

The house groaned, deep and shuddering, like an animal shifting in its sleep.

Daniel turned slowly. The figure at the end of the hall was clearer now. No longer just a shadow. No longer hidden by the dark.

It was him.

Same face. Same height. Same eyes.

But it was wrong.

The features were sharper, the skin pale and waxy. Its eyes were hollowed-out mirrors, reflecting Daniel’s own fear back at him.

“You left me,” the thing said.

Daniel’s pulse hammered.

“I—” His voice caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say.

The thing took a step forward. “You were supposed to stay.”

Daniel stumbled back, his hands gripping the wall for balance. He remembered now.

The thing in the basement had reached for him that night, whispering, pleading.

And Daniel had run.

But something had followed him out.

Something had walked away wearing his skin.

And the real Daniel—the one who belonged in the dark—had been left behind.

He had spent twenty years trying to live a life that wasn’t his.

And now, the house wanted to correct its mistake.

The air grew heavy. The house breathed around him. The floor buckled beneath his feet, the walls warping, stretching, pulling him back toward the basement door.

“No,” Daniel choked out, struggling against the invisible force. “I— I won’t go back!"

The thing tilted its head. Its mouth twisted into something almost like a smile.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Daniel’s body lurched forward.

The house was swallowing him.

The basement door yawned open. The blackness inside was not just darkness—it was something deeper. Something waiting.

He clawed at the floor, at the walls, but it was useless. The truth had always been there, just beneath the surface.

Daniel hadn’t escaped twenty years ago.

He had only delayed the inevitable.

The last thing he saw was the thing that looked like him, standing at the threshold, watching as the house took him back.

And then the door slammed shut.

The house on Oak Hollow Road stood silent once more.

Waiting.

Just like before.