Whispers in the Fog The old town of Ravenshade was known for its eerie silence, but on foggy nights, the whispers would begin. No one knew where they came from—soft, almost pleading voices that sent chills down the spines of anyone unfortunate enough to be out after dark. Some claimed they were the voices of lost souls, others believed it was just the wind playing tricks. But Nathan Carter was not one to believe in ghost stories. A journalist hungry for a gripping story, Nathan arrived in Ravenshade determined to uncover the truth behind the whispers. He checked into the town's only inn, an ancient wooden structure that groaned in the wind. The innkeeper, an old woman with hollow eyes, warned him. "Don’t go near Blackwood Manor. That’s where they come from." That night, curiosity got the better of Nathan. Armed with only a flashlight and a recorder, he ventured toward the abandoned Blackwood Manor, its silhouette barely visible in the dense fog. The whispers started before he even reached the rusted iron gate. They were distant at first, like echoes from another world, but as he stepped closer, they grew louder, desperate, calling his name. Nathan froze. His flashlight flickered. His recorder picked up strange static. Then, the front door creaked open by itself. Inside, the air was heavy with decay. Portraits of long-dead faces lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him. The whispers swirled around him, pressing into his mind, making his thoughts hazy. He moved deeper into the house, drawn by something unseen. A staircase led to the basement, the source of the whispers. Against his better judgment, he descended. The air grew colder. The whispers turned into anguished cries. At the bottom, he found an old wooden table covered in dust. On it lay a collection of yellowed photographs. His heart pounded as he picked one up. The picture showed him—standing at the very table he was at now. A hand clamped onto his shoulder. He spun around, but there was no one there. The whispers grew deafening, drowning his screams as the fog seeped through the walls, consuming him. The next morning, the townspeople found his abandoned recorder at the entrance of Blackwood Manor. It was still running. And in the silence of the morning, a new whisper joined the others.