The shadows whisper and the dead don’t stay silent

gravehour1

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Transcript

00:00mildew, and something metallic. One bedroom was bare except for a sagging mattress.

00:05Another had a sewing machine and a corkboard pinned with dozens of obituary clippings.

00:11Local names carefully cut out. In the master bedroom, I noticed a rotary phone on the nightstand,

00:17yellowed and ancient, its line long dead. Then my phone rang again, same unknown caller.

00:23I answered, stepping into the hallway. After a moment of static, a faint whisper said,

00:29don't answer the phone in the bedroom. The line went dead. I froze, checking windows and doors,

00:35all secure, no signs of anyone. My phone flickered between one bar and none. I tried calling my

00:41supervisor, but the call failed. Shaken, I kept working, boxing up items, but the feeling of being

00:48watch grew. Then I heard it, the rotary phone in the bedroom, ringing loudly, impossibly. It rang and

00:55rang, the receiver trembling. I didn't touch it. When it stopped, I decided to check the basement.

01:01The stairs creaked under my weight, the air thick with mold and rust. In a corner, on a small table,

01:08sat a dusty cordless phone and a stack of notebooks. I opened one. Pages of names, dates, and notes like

01:15LNR. June 2, 19. Rang once, didn't answer. Dozens of entries, all similar. Panic hit. I bolted upstairs,

01:24drove to the office, and reported the house as unsafe, hinting at squatters. Two days later, a co-worker,

01:32James, texted me. He'd gone to finish the job and heard the bedroom phone ring. He didn't answer.

01:38Two freaked out and quit the next day. I later found him on Facebook. He was fine, but never spoke of it

01:45again. The police checked the house and found nothing. It felt like a prank or a trap. In 2019,

01:52I lived alone in a cheap rental house on the edge of town. It was old, with creaky floors and a basement

01:57I rarely used. The basement door and the hallway by the back.

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