Whispers in the Walls

By Myria Hopkins

Whispers in the Walls: A Chilling Psychological Thriller of Obsession, Madness, and Dark Secrets

 

From acclaimed author Myria Hopkins comes a haunting psychological thriller that delves into the depths of the human psyche. "Whispers in the Walls" is a mesmerizing tale of obsession, madness, and the dark secrets that lie buried within a Victorian-era house in a quiet suburban neighborhood.
 

When Maurice and Mindy Guerrero move into their dream home, they believe they have found the perfect place to start their new life together. But as eerie whispers and sinister visions begin to plague Mindy's nights, she becomes increasingly convinced that the house harbors a malevolent presence, one that threatens to consume her sanity and soul.
 

As Mindy unravels the house's twisted history, she discovers a legacy of murder, occult rituals, and the enigmatic figure of Dr. Emmett King, a renowned psychiatrist with a terrifying secret. Drawn into a labyrinth of hidden rooms, cryptic journals, and ghostly whispers, Mindy's obsession grows, and she finds herself questioning not only her own sanity but the loyalties of those closest to her.
 

With Maurice hiding secrets of his own and the arrival of the mysterious Eileen Burke, who claims to hold the key to the house's haunted past, Mindy must confront the truth that lies at the heart of the whispers before it's too late. In a shocking twist, Hopkins reveals that the true horror lies not in the supernatural but in the depths of the human mind.
 

A masterful blend of psychological suspense and supernatural horror, "Whispers in the Walls" is a haunting exploration of the secrets we keep, the lies we tell ourselves, and the terrifying power of the human psyche. With her trademark elegance and razor-sharp prose, Myria Hopkins has crafted a novel that will linger long in the minds of readers, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lies waiting just beneath the surface of our everyday lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Benoit
• Release date: Apr 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223920748

Myria Hopkins

Myria Hopkins is a fresh and exciting new voice in the world of fiction, starting her journey as a beginner author. Her passion for storytelling and deep understanding of the human experience are evident in her debut works, which showcase her ability to craft compelling narratives that captivate readers from beginning to end. Drawing inspiration from her own life experiences and a wide range of sources, Myria's writing is marked by its authenticity, emotional depth, and relatability. As she continues to develop her craft and explore new literary terrain, she looks forward to connecting with readers and sharing her unique vision with the world.

Book preview

Prelude

Dear Readers,

As an author, I have always been fascinated by the depths of the human psyche and the secrets that lie hidden within the walls of our homes. Our minds are capable of incredible things, but they can also be our greatest enemies, leading us down dark paths and into the arms of obsession and madness.

In Whispers in the Walls, I wanted to explore these themes through the lens of a young couple, Maurice and Mindy Guerrero, who move into their dream home, only to find that it harbors a sinister presence that threatens to consume them. As Mindy delves deeper into the house's dark history, she uncovers a twisted legacy of murder, occult rituals, and the enigmatic figure of Dr. Emmett King, a renowned psychiatrist with a terrifying secret.

But the true horror of this story lies not in the supernatural, but in the depths of the human mind. As Mindy's obsession grows, she begins to question her own sanity and the loyalties of those closest to her. With Maurice hiding secrets of his own and the arrival of the mysterious Eileen Burke, who claims to hold the key to the house's haunted past, Mindy must confront the truth that lies at the heart of the whispers before it's too late.

Writing this novel was a journey into the darkest corners of the human experience, and I hope that it will leave readers with a sense of unease and a newfound appreciation for the power of the mind. Whispers in the Walls is a masterful blend of psychological suspense and supernatural horror that will keep you guessing until the very end.

I invite you to step inside the pages of this book and experience the terror for yourself. But be warned: once you enter the world of Whispers in the Walls, you may never be the same again.

With deepest regards,

Myria Hopkins

Chapter 1

Maurice Guerrero stood hand in hand with his wife Mindy on the sidewalk, gazing up at their new home with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The Victorian-era house loomed before them, its white façade gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Intricate woodwork adorned the eaves and porch railings, hinting at a time when craftsmanship reigned supreme.

Maurice's heart raced as he took in the sight, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple despite the cool breeze. He felt Mindy's hand tighten around his, her palm slightly clammy. Glancing down at her, he tried to decipher the expression on her face. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—fear, perhaps? No, that wasn't quite right. Unease, more like it. The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were trying to force a smile. Maurice gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb gently caressing her knuckles.

Can you believe it's really ours? Mindy asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to hang in the air, tinged with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Maurice grinned, the excitement bubbling up inside him like a shaken soda can, threatening to burst forth at any moment. After all that paperwork and waiting, it still feels a bit surreal, he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. But I couldn't be happier, Min. This is the start of something great, I can feel it.

Mindy nodded, but Maurice noticed the way her gaze darted back to the house, as if searching for something in its darkened windows. He followed her line of sight, trying to see what she saw. The house was undeniably beautiful, a true gem of a bygone era, but there was something about it that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, a nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right.

As they walked up the path to the front door, Maurice felt Mindy's hesitation in the way she dragged her feet, her steps growing slower with each passing moment. He knew she was trying to ignore the faint unease that crept along her spine, the way the shadows seemed to reach out from the corners of the porch, beckoning them closer. The house had been a steal—on the market for months with the price dropping lower and lower. It was a dream come true, but Maurice couldn't shake the nagging question in the back of his mind: why had such a beautiful home struggled to sell?

The antique key turned smoothly in the lock, the click echoing in the stillness. The door swung open with a gentle creak, the hinges protesting after months of disuse. Mindy stepped over the threshold first, inhaling deeply. Maurice watched as her shoulders tensed, then relaxed, a shudder rippling through her body.

What's that smell? she asked, wrinkling her nose. Her voice was tight, strained.

Maurice sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. It smelled of aged wood and dust, the scents of a home that had been left empty for too long. There was something else, too, something he couldn't quite place. It was like a faint whisper, a presence that lingered just beyond his grasp. Probably just needs a good airing out, he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a lie he desperately wanted to believe.

They moved slowly through the house, their footsteps echoing off the hardwood floors. The furniture cast long shadows in the fading light, and Maurice couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He wrapped an arm around Mindy's shoulders, pulling her close.

Well, it'll take some work, but I think we can really make this place our own, he said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice. Maurice's words hung in the air, a desperate attempt to dispel the unease that clung to them like a second skin. He looked around the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. It was a daunting task, but he was determined to turn this house into a home, no matter what it took.

Mindy leaned into him, and Maurice felt some of the tension leave her body. Her warmth was a comfort, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this strange new place. You're right, she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It's going to be perfect.

But as they set to work unpacking boxes and arranging furniture, Maurice couldn't ignore the growing sense of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. It was like a cold hand gripping his insides, twisting and turning with every passing moment. The house seemed to watch them, its walls holding secrets that he wasn't sure he wanted to uncover. Every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the settling foundation, sent a shiver down his spine.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Mindy collapsed onto the couch next to Maurice, exhaustion seeping into her bones. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles. Maurice reached out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

Pizza for dinner? he asked, already reaching for his phone. He needed something normal, something familiar, to anchor him in this strange new place. The thought of venturing out into the unknown, even just to pick up food, filled him with a sense of dread.

Mindy laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. It was a hollow sound, devoid of the warmth and joy he was so used to hearing. You read my mind, she said, but there was a brittleness to her voice that made Maurice's heart ache.

But even as they ate, the shadows seemed to lengthen, reaching out to envelop them. The pizza tasted like ash in Maurice's mouth, and he found himself struggling to swallow each bite. He tried to shake off the feeling, telling himself that it was just his imagination running wild in an unfamiliar place. But the nagging sensation persisted, like a splinter in his mind that he couldn't quite remove.

Later that night, as they lay in bed surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, Mindy found herself staring up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. The old house creaked and settled around them, the noises unfamiliar and vaguely unsettling. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them, something ancient and malevolent.

Maurice? she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Do you hear that?

He rolled over, his eyes heavy with sleep. The shadows played across his face, making him look almost like a stranger. Hm? Hear what, babe? His words were slurred, his mind still half in the realm of dreams.

Mindy strained her ears, trying to catch the faint whisper that seemed to curl through the air. It was like a voice, just beyond the edge of her understanding. The words danced on the tip of her tongue, maddeningly out of reach. She felt her heart rate quicken, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. The darkness pressed in on her, suffocating and heavy, and she fought the urge to scream.

I thought... She trailed off, shaking her head. The whispers faded away, leaving only the creaks and groans of the old house. Never mind. It's nothing. I'm just tired. The words sounded hollow, even to her own ears, but she clung to them like a lifeline.

Maurice mumbled something incoherent, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. Mindy let his warmth envelope her, trying to draw comfort from the steady rhythm of his breathing. But even as she closed her eyes, the unease lingered, like a splinter beneath her skin. Sleep came in fits and starts, her dreams haunted by shapeless shadows and half-heard whispers. Every time she drifted off, she found herself jolting awake, her heart pounding and her skin slick with sweat.

The morning dawned bright and clear, sunlight streaming through the lace curtains and chasing away the shadows of the night. Mindy woke with a start, her heart pounding. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. The room seemed unfamiliar, the walls closing in around her. Then the events of the previous day came flooding back - the move, the house, the strange whispers in the night. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, trying to shake off the lingering tendrils of her dreams.

Beside her, Maurice stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. Morning, Min, he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. How'd you sleep? He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair sticking up at odd angles.

Mindy hesitated, the lie poised on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to tell him that she'd slept like a baby, that everything was fine. But something held her back. The whispers, the unease, the feeling that something was watching them from the shadows. Not great, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. I kept hearing...I don't know. Whispers, I guess. It was probably just the house settling.

Maurice frowned, his brow furrowing. Whispers? What kind of whispers? He sat up fully now, his gaze searching her face.

Mindy shrugged, feeling foolish in the light of day. The strange whispers felt like nothing more than a dream, a figment of her overtired imagination. I couldn't make out the words. It was probably nothing. Just my mind playing tricks on me. She tried to laugh, but the sound came out strained and forced.

Maurice studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching. Mindy felt a flicker of unease. Did he think she was losing it? That the stress of the move had finally gotten to her? But then he smiled, the tension draining from his face. This old house is bound to have some quirks, he said, kissing her on the forehead. We'll get used to it.

Mindy nodded, forcing a smile. She wanted to believe him, to shake off the lingering unease. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. I'm going to tackle the attic, she declared over coffee, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. We need to figure out what the previous owner left behind and what's ours to keep or toss.

Maurice saluted her with his mug, a playful glint in his eye. Godspeed, my love. I shall remain here and valiantly unpack the kitchen.

Mindy swatted at him playfully before ascending the narrow staircase to the attic. The door creaked open, revealing a dusty, dimly lit space crowded with boxes and draped in cobwebs. The air was thick and stale, heavy with the weight of years. Mindy tied a bandana around her nose and mouth, trying to block out the musty smell. The stairs groaned beneath her feet as she climbed, each step a reminder of the house's age and history.

She got to work, sorting through the detritus of someone else's life. It was tedious, mind-numbing work. Mindy separated items into piles - things to keep, things to donate, things to throw away. The piles grew and shifted, a tangible representation of the passage of time. With each item she touched, Mindy felt a strange sensation, as if the objects held whispers of the past, secrets waiting to be uncovered.

As she reached the bottom of a particularly ancient box, her fingers brushed against something smooth and cool. A shiver ran down her spine, a primal warning. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the object. Then, slowly, she drew it out, motes of dust dancing in the light that streamed through the attic's lone window. The object seemed to pulse with an energy of its own, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

It was a journal - small, leather-bound, and yellowed with age. The cover was soft and supple beneath her fingers, worn smooth by countless hands. Mindy carefully opened it, her curiosity piqued. The first page bore a single name, inscribed in spidery script: Dr. Emmett King. The name seemed to leap off the page, burning itself into her mind.

A chill raced down Mindy's spine. The house's previous owner. She knew nothing about him, had never thought to ask. Now, here was a piece of him, a window into his mind. Mindy's hands trembled as she turned the pages, her heart pounding in her chest. Each word, each sentence, seemed to hold a dark promise, a hint of the secrets that lay buried within the house's walls.

Mindy sat back on her heels, flipping through the pages of Dr. Emmett King's journal with growing unease. The dusty attic seemed to close in around her as she read, the words painting a picture of a man consumed by obsession. Dr. King's tight, spidery script spoke of dark experiments and descents into madness, of a relentless pursuit of the occult that had driven him to push the boundaries of science and sanity within the very walls that now surrounded Mindy. The pages seemed to crackle with a malevolent energy, as if the journal itself was a conduit for something sinister.

She felt a chill