Chapter 10 " Whispers of Unknown "

“The mind is a fragile cage, dear reader. Kaze thinks he can keep it locked. Let’s hear what whispers break through. Silence your thoughts, or they’ll scream too…”

Kaze Nakamura, a 19-year-old college freshman, slumped at hid desk in a cramped dorm room, the glow of a laptop casting shadows across textbooks and empty energy drink cans. 

Sleep had always been a battle insomnia plagued Kaze since childhood, his nights spent tossing, mind racing with anxious thoughts. 

He coped with music, late-night study sessions, anything to drown out the quiet. At 1:00 a.m., bleary-eyed from a psychology paper, Kaze noticed a book on his bed, half-tucked under a pillow. 

Old, leather-bound, its cover cracked and etched with twisting branches that seemed to shiver in the lamplight. No title, no author.

Kaze frowned, exhaustion clouding his memory. Had someone left it ? A vague image flickered a stranger in the library handing it to them, urging, “Read it.” 

But the face was gone, like a dream erased. Kaze, a fan of creepy podcasts, felt a spark of curiosity despite their fatigue. 

He grabbed the book, its weight heavy, its cover warm like fevered skin. The pages crackled, releasing a faint smell of ash and something sour, like wilted flowers. 

The first nine pages were missing, torn out with jagged edges, leaving a reddish stain. The first intact page read: Chapter 10: Whispers of Unknown. 

The text was handwritten, the ink uneven, as if scratched with a trembling claw. Kaze, needing a distraction, began to read.

Sleep was my refuge until the voices came. Every night, as I drifted off, they whispered desperate, pleading, trapped in my mind. 

“Let us out,” they begged, their voices a chorus of anguish. “We want to be free.” I didn’t know where they came from, only that they weren’t mine. 

The rule was clear: don’t answer the voices. To speak back is to open the cage, to let the Whisperers lost souls bound by her will flood your mind, claiming it as their own.

I ignored them, thinking exhaustion played tricks. But one night, I whispered, “Who are you?” The voices surged, no longer pleading but commanding, filling my head with their screams, their memories, their pain. 

My thoughts weren’t mine anymore. Now I’m their prison, my mind a cage for their endless cries, trapped by her dark. Don’t answer the voices. The Whisperers are waiting.

Kaze dropped the book, his heart pounding. The story hit too close his insomnia, the quiet nights when his mind felt too full. 

The dorm was silent, the lamp buzzing faintly, casting shadows that seemed to pulse. The book’s pages rustled, though no air stirred. 

Kaze’s skin prickled, the rule echoing: Don’t answer the voices. He shoved the book under his bed, hands shaking, and cranked his music louder, trying to drown out the story’s weight. 

But as he lay down, eyes burning, a faint whisper brushed his ear: “Kaze… let us out.” he bolted upright, heart racing. 

Just his imagination, right ? The dorm felt colder, the air thick with ash and wilted flowers. 

Kaze kept the lamp on, staring at the ceiling, refusing to close his eyes. Sleep tugged at them, but the whisper returned, softer, pleading: 

“Free us…” Kaze clenched his jaw, the rule a lifeline. He grabbed headphones, blasting music, but the whispers slipped through, growing louder, a chorus of voices men, women, children, all desperate.

By the third night, Kaze was unraveling, dark circles under his eyes, coffee cans piling up. 

The book, now on his desk despite hiding it, glowed faintly, its branches writhing. 

He avoided sleep, but exhaustion blurred reality. The whispers came even awake, echoing in the dorm’s corners:

“Why won’t you help us?” Kaze’s resolve cracked. “Who are you?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

The whispers exploded, a deafening chorus filling his skull. Memories not theirs flooded in a boy lost in black-veined trees (Billy), a woman silenced in a void (Sumi), a man burning in red light (Ethan). 

The Whisperers’ voices screamed, clawing at Kaze’s thoughts, their desperation a weight crushing his mind. 

The dorm warped walls bled ash, shadows twisted into branches, the lamp flickering with glowing eyes. 

Kaze stumbled, clutching his head, their own voice drowning in the chorus. The book, open on the floor, pulsed, a new line scrawled: You answered, Kaze. 

Quola’s Whisperers claim your mind. “Their cries feed her, Kaze. Speak, and you’re their cage forever.” 

The whispers surged, Kaze’s screams lost in their chorus, as the dorm’s shadows coiled, dragging their mind into a prison of endless, desperate voices.