The Whispers Beneath the Floor

In the quiet village of Elmsbrook, an old house stood forgotten at the edge of the woods. No one had lived there for nearly fifty years—not since the Holloway family vanished without a trace. Locals claimed the house "breathed" at night, that groans and soft cries echoed from beneath its floorboards. Most dismissed it as the wind… or rats. But not Elsie.

Elsie was a young journalist with a passion for unsolved mysteries. Determined to make her name, she rented the Holloway house despite warnings from the villagers.

The first night, she noticed it: a soft thumping under the wooden floor. It mimicked her footsteps, just half a beat behind. She tapped once. It tapped back. Thinking it was some clever plumbing quirk, she laughed it off.

But then the whispers started.

They came around 3:03 AM, every night, like clockwork. Muffled voices, speaking in tones so faint they seemed to crawl beneath her skin rather than reach her ears. “She knows,” one voice hissed. “She listens,” another said.

On the third night, Elsie lifted the floorboard in the living room. A rotten, earthy smell filled the air. She found a crawl space—and beneath it, old bones... dozens of them, scattered and gnawed, arranged in strange spirals. There were symbols etched into the beams, smeared in something black and waxy.

As she turned to flee, the floor snapped shut on its own. Her phone wouldn't work. Every window showed only darkness outside, even in the morning light.

Now, villagers whisper of a new sound from the house: a woman’s scream echoing through the night, followed by frantic scratching. But no one goes near it anymore.

Not since the house claimed her.

It’s always listening.
Always hungry.

#EchoesFromBelow