It was a cool, cloudy night when Emma coincidentally found an old, worn-out book covered underneath the flooring planks of her upper room. It had been concealed for quite a long time, fixed away as though somebody had needed it never to be found. Captivated, she forgot about the residue on the cover and opened it. The pages were yellowed with age, yet the composing was as yet neat — faint, yet clear to the point of creeping her out.
As she flipped through the journal, it became evident that it was no customary diary. The sections were not composed by a solitary individual. All things being equal, each page contained the penmanship of various people, all sharing something shocking in like manner: they expounded on a peculiar voice that spooky them. Interest got the better of Emma, and even though she realized she shouldn’t, she read further into the pages.
One passage was composed by a man who had been headed to frenzy. His words shuddered on the page, “The voice, it murmurs around evening time. It knows my name… it knows it all.” One more section from a lady related how her significant other had vanished not long after she started hearing a similar voice, reverberating inside their home.
At last, Emma understood that these individuals had lived many years separated, yet their encounters were frightfully comparative. As she went to the last page, her hands shuddered. It was clear, aside from one sentence scribbled in the middle: “It will find you as well.”
At that point, an unexpected squeak reverberated through the storage room. Emma froze. Her eyes dashed to the shadows, yet nothing moved. She attempted to dismiss it, persuading herself it was only the old house settling. However, an uncomfortable inclination waited.
Days passed, and peculiar things started occurring around her home. Objects were moved, and entryways were seen as completely open, although she had locked them the prior night. To top it all off, she began hearing murmurs. From the get-go, they were weak—simply a delicate mumble behind the scenes that she could scarcely make out. In any case, over the long haul, they became stronger and closer until one evening, they talked about her name.
The alarm held her heart. She looked for the journal, expecting to discover some clarification or sign, yet it had evaporated. However, Emma looked through each edge of her home; the book was mysteriously absent. Distress transformed into fear when she understood that the journal had been taken, very much like the individuals who had written in it.
It wasn’t some time before Emma’s companions saw her unexpected change in conduct. She developed pale, restless, and removed. At the point when she got some information about it, she would basically shake her head and murmur, “It’s coming for me.”
One night, while sitting in her faintly lit family room, the lights gleamed. The air turned cold, and the murmurs became stronger, occupying the room. This time, they weren’t simply calling out to her — they were advising her to go along with them. The walls appeared to shut in, and she could never again let on the off chance that her hearing was genuine or on the other hand assuming it was a figment of her imagination.
Out of nowhere, the lights went out totally, and the murmuring stopped. A stunning quietness fell over the room. Emma’s breathing became shallow as her eyes examined the dimness. All of a sudden, the voice returned, just now, it was anything but a murmur.
It was right behind her, near enough to feel its breath on her neck. Emma won’t ever shout. At the point when her neighbors came to beware of her the following day, her home was vacant. She had disappeared suddenly, very much like the other people who had written in the mysterious journal.
Right up to the present day, the journal remains missing, and its last page stays unwritten.
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