"Loud":
Late one night, Jane sat alone in her tiny apartment, her only company the silence around her. She liked the quiet. It helped her think, helped her write.
But tonight, the quiet seemed heavier, almost oppressive.
She’d just settled in when the first noise shattered the silence—a loud, unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Jane froze. Her heart pounded as she realized it was coming from her dining room, a few steps away.
Jane stood, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was just a neighbor. But she knew the walls in her building weren’t that thin.
Another noise—a loud, heavy thump—came from the same spot. She cautiously moved toward the dining room, heart in her throat. With each step, the sound grew louder, a guttural dragging like something scraping against the floor.
Suddenly, she heard it right behind her: a loud whisper, clear as a bell.
"Louder."
Jane whipped around, but there was nothing there. She felt her stomach twist, fear gnawing at her mind.
Then, it started again. Louder this time, like a distant scream echoing through the walls. Every noise in her apartment began to amplify, each one blending together in a chaotic symphony that grew, filling every inch of her mind. Footsteps—dragging and scratching—coming closer, voices whispering, a chorus of pain and anger.
She clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The sound seeped in, burrowing into her mind, reverberating off the walls.
Suddenly, her own voice screamed, "Stop!"
The noise vanished. Silence.
But when she uncovered her ears, she saw a figure in the mirror—a twisted version of herself, its mouth wide open in a soundless scream.
And then, with a loud, final whisper, it leaned in close, "Louder."
---
The next day, Jane’s neighbors reported the eerie silence in her apartment. The police found her lying in front of the mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream, the word "Loud" scratched all over the walls.
No one could explain it. And when her apartment went silent once again, some say you could still hear the faintest whisper of her voice, begging for the noise to stop.
Late one night, Jane sat alone in her tiny apartment, her only company the silence around her. She liked the quiet. It helped her think, helped her write.
But tonight, the quiet seemed heavier, almost oppressive.
She’d just settled in when the first noise shattered the silence—a loud, unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Jane froze. Her heart pounded as she realized it was coming from her dining room, a few steps away.
Jane stood, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was just a neighbor. But she knew the walls in her building weren’t that thin.
Another noise—a loud, heavy thump—came from the same spot. She cautiously moved toward the dining room, heart in her throat. With each step, the sound grew louder, a guttural dragging like something scraping against the floor.
Suddenly, she heard it right behind her: a loud whisper, clear as a bell.
"Louder."
Jane whipped around, but there was nothing there. She felt her stomach twist, fear gnawing at her mind.
Then, it started again. Louder this time, like a distant scream echoing through the walls. Every noise in her apartment began to amplify, each one blending together in a chaotic symphony that grew, filling every inch of her mind. Footsteps—dragging and scratching—coming closer, voices whispering, a chorus of pain and anger.
She clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The sound seeped in, burrowing into her mind, reverberating off the walls.
Suddenly, her own voice screamed, "Stop!"
The noise vanished. Silence.
But when she uncovered her ears, she saw a figure in the mirror—a twisted version of herself, its mouth wide open in a soundless scream.
And then, with a loud, final whisper, it leaned in close, "Louder."
---
The next day, Jane’s neighbors reported the eerie silence in her apartment. The police found her lying in front of the mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream, the word "Loud" scratched all over the walls.
No one could explain it. And when her apartment went silent once again, some say you could still hear the faintest whisper of her voice, begging for the noise to stop.
"Loud":
Late one night, Jane sat alone in her tiny apartment, her only company the silence around her. She liked the quiet. It helped her think, helped her write.
But tonight, the quiet seemed heavier, almost oppressive.
She’d just settled in when the first noise shattered the silence—a loud, unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Jane froze. Her heart pounded as she realized it was coming from her dining room, a few steps away.
Jane stood, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was just a neighbor. But she knew the walls in her building weren’t that thin.
Another noise—a loud, heavy thump—came from the same spot. She cautiously moved toward the dining room, heart in her throat. With each step, the sound grew louder, a guttural dragging like something scraping against the floor.
Suddenly, she heard it right behind her: a loud whisper, clear as a bell.
"Louder."
Jane whipped around, but there was nothing there. She felt her stomach twist, fear gnawing at her mind.
Then, it started again. Louder this time, like a distant scream echoing through the walls. Every noise in her apartment began to amplify, each one blending together in a chaotic symphony that grew, filling every inch of her mind. Footsteps—dragging and scratching—coming closer, voices whispering, a chorus of pain and anger.
She clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The sound seeped in, burrowing into her mind, reverberating off the walls.
Suddenly, her own voice screamed, "Stop!"
The noise vanished. Silence.
But when she uncovered her ears, she saw a figure in the mirror—a twisted version of herself, its mouth wide open in a soundless scream.
And then, with a loud, final whisper, it leaned in close, "Louder."
---
The next day, Jane’s neighbors reported the eerie silence in her apartment. The police found her lying in front of the mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream, the word "Loud" scratched all over the walls.
No one could explain it. And when her apartment went silent once again, some say you could still hear the faintest whisper of her voice, begging for the noise to stop.
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