White Whispers

It was ghost quiet when the killings began. The popping of gunfire accompanied by the terrified shrieks of dying men, women, and children filled the air and reached into the night like a hand calling for aid, or something. But this only brought joy to the outlaws responsible for the sordid acts.

However, while these outlaws laughed, scorned, and reveled in the deeds their hands had wrought, they were unaware that they had awakened something damned and hopeless. Something that shouldn't be disturbed in the house of silence, not far from the killing square.

Hope sprang in this house, and her tidy walls did rattle with joy. It was the most the house could do, for if she was capable of more, her silver and goldwares, plates, and cups would have left their racks and cupboards to make high-pitched sounds. Beds, sofas, stools, chairs, and tables would have joined in, causing a ruckus to attract attention. But this was a house that was not to be noticed. A house cursed to create nothing but whispers. A house that wasn't a house.

Outnumbering the town's people five to one, the outlaws concluded the killing, cutting the last of their victims to pieces, and sharing the meats with their colleagues. But something in the walls of this house was watching, something that loved them not.

It had grown quiet again, save for a few shouts and laughter here and there. Then, the men went into a festive spirit. The house not far away grew disappointed, and it felt its hope dashed to pieces.

"They will find us," came a whisper in the night, one spoken with hope.

This was a whisper with a mind of its own. A creature like a voice, unable to be seen, or felt, but one able to see, feel, and smell. It was the whisper of a being called Rose Steele, and she was currently one of the captives of the house of silence, the very body of the house itself.

This was what time had done to Rose and her sisters. This was what a curse had done to them against their will. But a whisper had been sent. A feeling of hope to be restored.

Rose perceived the stench of these men. They reeked of trouble and death, a smell that only made her salivate. Peace clung to her, but she desired trouble. Rose had sent out this whisper to have a closer look, and a closer feel of these men, then to invite them in.

She wanted it to fill them with just enough lust and want like she did other unwavering passersby who already knew and recognized her. But these men had destroyed them, well, a few, and she had come to guide these men, these fresh bloods who didn't know her, to her. Maybe it was a weak trial, but they were men, and lust, no matter how weak, always did seem distracting to men.

Standing three feet from the leader of the bandits was Rose, and she watched him savor the chopped-off human bodies before him. These chopped-off bodies were once the unwavering town's people who knew and avoided her, but they didn't matter now. At least, there was no one to warn these men.

Blood to these outlaws was sweet, and the leader, he had blood dripping to his beards from the meat he chewed. One of the bandits approached the leader.

"We've found one," he said.

Rose looked in the direction of the house. It was the only house no one, or anything would dare go into, not even dirt, or disorder. Silence, peace, and tidiness lived there, and ever-changing had this house been for millennia. All who saw it and wrote about it always said the same thing. It was a tomb to avoid. Maybe a house, but a tomb, and unlike any other house, this one was alive.

The leader gave the order for them to storm the house.

The bandits moved in the direction of the house with the man who had scouted it in the lead, and their leader joined them with his meal abandoned. It was all Rose could do to keep her smile from bursting out. She glided over the men through the night, returning into her body, waiting for her guests, hoping to play host.

"Wake up, sisters," Rose whispered. "They've found us."

Rose felt her sisters wake up.

The bandits reached the house in no time, and with a crash, the entrance door fell to the floor.

"Wait," Rose whispered to her sisters. "Wait. We mustn't lose them this time. We must act as great hosts." This wasn't their first attempt. For centuries, they had tried and failed to achieve freedom. Today, it was possible.

Rose perceived the men when they walked in, and so did her sisters. They were silent, watching, waiting, and hoping to take in more than dirt on the sole of the feet of these men.

"It's so tidy," one man said. "I doubt I've ever seen any house this neat before."

"And well arranged," another said.

The leader walked in. "Search the house, kill anyone inside, and take everything of value."

"Ouch," one of the bandits said abruptly. "I touched the wall and it cut my hand. Is that supposed to happen?" He raised his bloody hand to show his colleagues and the leader who had turned to look at him.

"Maybe, you have baby hands," the leader joked.

Some of the men laughed.

The wounded man did nothing to conceal his injury as blood not so slowly leaked out. Instead, he shook his hand, and drops of blood touched the floor. Unnoticed by these men, these drops of blood were absorbed into the floor.

The sisters were now at full strength.

"Now," Rose whispered.

A hand reached out from the wall and dragged a man inside, leaving no cracks or any opening to where it had dragged the man into, other hands reached out from the floor, ceiling, sofa, and table, making the unfortunate men shriek, letting their colleagues know.

Dread filled the air and the core of these men like a thing alive, and it appeared on their faces with bewildered expressions mingled with terror. Their hearts thumped fast in hopes to leave their chests.

Hands reached out again from the door, mirror, cupboard, window, and curtain, collecting a new set of victims. Some of the men tried to run out, but the floor held them fast while they screamed their hearts out.

As if realizing what was happening, the leader shouted, "Fire!"

Rapid gunfire rang in the house, the men fired at the floor, walls, ceiling, and everywhere that they had seen a hand. Those outside tried to come inside to give aid when they realised the ones inside seemed to need help. But there was no need, for as soon as it had begun, the house was no more, and they were all standing exposed under the night sky.

It was a mystery how the house disappeared. It was like it was never there, to begin with. Worse, no one could see the five lurking shadows with different colours of hair. They couldn't have seen them anyway, for darkness unlike any other suddenly settled around them, causing them to shriek to the bites, the rips of flesh, the dread that enveloped them.

Every man had his voice and hands raised, groping in the darkness, hoping to escape the pain. But soon, every man's voice was silenced as the darkness lifted, and all that remained was the night. All that was left of the site were lots of scattered bones, five beings gently stirring, and more terrifying whispers, whispering.

Then the distinct, cold whisper of Rose Steele came, and it said, "Now, let's find them."