Daniel stumbled back to his apartment, his mind still spinning from the encounter. The old man’s words looped endlessly in his head, like a haunting melody that refused to fade.

"The dead… they speak in whispers. And once you hear them, there’s no going back."

His apartment was a small, cramped place in the corner of a decrepit building, as tired and broken as he felt. The lightly peeling wallpapers here and there, spider webs on each corner of the ceilings, dusted furnitures and dim light from a flickering bulb overhead gave it an air of abandonment, though he still lived there. Barely. He kicked the door shut behind him, the noise echoing in the stillness.

He let his coat fall to the floor, too drained to hang it up, and collapsed onto the couch. His head fell into his hands, his fingers pressing into his temples as if he could squeeze out the memories threatening to overwhelm him.

Emily’s voice. The old man’s gaze. The suffocating pull of the river.

“Just what in the world is happening to me?” he whispered to the empty room.

The silence answered him, heavy and oppressive.

For a while, Daniel sat there, unmoving, staring blankly at the stained coffee table in front of him. On it sat an old photograph in a cheap frame. His hand trembled as he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the glass.

It is a picture of Emily, taken a year ago on her fifteenth birthday. She was grinning at the camera, holding a cupcake with a single candle on top. Her brown eyes sparkled with a joy he hadn’t seen in so long, even before the fire.

He traced her face with his thumb, his vision blurring with tears. “I should’ve been there,” he murmured. “I should’ve protected you.”

The guilt was a living thing, clawing at his chest. He’d spent months replaying every moment of that day in his head, searching for a clue, a sign...anything, just anything that could explain what had happened. But all he had were questions and an empty hole where his heart used to be.

He set the photo down carefully, as if it might shatter under the weight of his sorrow, and leaned back against the couch. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, unfocused.

And then he heard it again.

“Dad.”

His breath caught, his entire body going rigid. The voice was faint but unmistakable. It came from somewhere close, not in his head this time. He quickly sat up, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Emily?” he called out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

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Silence......

He rose slowly, his movements cautious, as if afraid to disturb whatever presence might be there. His eyes scanned the room, searching for something...anything...that could explain what he’d heard.

Then he saw it.

The photo on the table had shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the frame now tilted slightly to the left, as though someone had nudged it.

Daniel stared at it, his pulse racing. He moved toward it cautiously, his hands trembling. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before picking it up.

As soon as his fingers touched the frame, a sudden chill enveloped him, cutting through his skin and into his very bones. The air around him grew dense, heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

And then the whispers began.

They were faint at first, a low hum that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, same moment. But they grew louder, overlapping, a chaotic symphony of voices, each one distinct yet indistinguishable.

Daniel clutched the frame tightly, his knuckles white. “What do you want from me???" he shouted, his voice cracking.

The whispers stopped abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.

Then, one voice broke through.

“Listen.”

The single word is spoken clearly, firmly, with a weight that sent shivers down Daniel’s spine. It wasn’t Emily’s voice this time. It is deeper, older, filled with a strange sense of urgency.

Daniel’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the photograph still clutched in his hands. He is shaking now, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

“I...I don’t understand,” he said, his voice barely audible. “What do you want me for? What do you want me to do??”

The room remained silent, but the chill lingered, pressing against him like an unseen force. Slowly, he looked down at the photograph in his hands.

For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The image had changed. Emily is still there, smiling, but in the background, a shadowy figure now stood. It is vague, indistinct, more a suggestion of a person than an actual presence. But its eyes...or what should have been its eyes, were fixed on him.

Daniel’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. He scrambled back, letting the photo fall to the floor. The sound of the glass hitting the wood jolted him, but when he looked again, the shadow was gone.

He pressed his back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel his sanity slipping, the world around him unraveling.

But beneath the terror, a seed of something else began to grow.

Listen.

The word echoed in his mind, steady and unyielding. If this was real....if he wasn’t losing his mind....then what choice did he have?

He had to listen.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the grimy window, Daniel made a decision. He didn’t know what was happening to him or why, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

If the dead wanted to speak, he would hear them.

But he had no idea what truths they would reveal...or what it would cost him.

(To be Continued)