The Whisperer

CW: Death and grief

Frankie felt numb. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He was just existing. 

“It’ll get better, you just need time.” The therapists said to him, “It’s normal to feel this way after such a big event. It’s grief.” Grief. That funny word, such a small number of letters yet has so much impact in anyone’s life. It can hit you whenever, beat you till you feel worthless. Then leave you empty. 

A month had passed since the accident. Frankie had been out of town working; he had found an abandoned castle and was filming footage for his latest piece, ‘The Creature in Coldsworth Castle,’ and felt so optimistic. This was the break he needed. He remembers the evening so well. Just after he had analysed and finished the opening, his phone buzzed. 

“Frankie Percitt?” a voice sounded from the other end of the line. It sounded professional, with a slight buzz of talking in the background. 

“Speaking.” Frankie replied, whilst typing the last notes on his laptop. 

“I am so dreadfully sorry, but your parents and sister perished in a car crash today at approximately 21.53. They were rushed to the nearest hospital, but they didn’t make it. My severe condolences.” The voice replied. Frankie looked up in shock, as his laptop crashed to the floor, but he felt too senseless to pick it up. 

What followed this encounter was a flash, Frankie didn’t know what was going on. He travelled home, abandoning Coldsworth Castle and began the serious tasks. The adult tasks. So many things had fallen into his responsibility—sorting the house, reading the will, dishing out money to undeserving people. All the while everyone walked on eggshells around him, not doing anything except sending a sad smile. That was the worst part, the constant pity. And the knowledge it would only be him, forever. 

Therefore, when the opportunity to visit Leabray Caves came up, he took it. Realistically, it took Frankie a few days to consider the offer, but it was a chance to run away for a while. He booked the train the next day. 

“I’m happy for you Frankie mate, it’ll be good for you to do what you love for a few days.” Frankie’s best friend, Liam said. He was the only one Frankie could manage a conversation with without wanting to rip his ears off. 

“I know, I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s meant to be this really haunted cave; a load of the workers disappeared one day and never went back. It’ll be interesting at least.” Frankie replied, sipping his black coffee.

“Just be safe mate, we all care about you a lot, even though you don’t realise.” Liam answered.

The train ride to Leabray was pleasant, rolling green hills and blue skies. It reminded Frankie of family holidays to the coast, where he and his sister would play in the sand, while their parents watched on laughing, or helping to build sandcastles—this was a chance to get away from all of this, not be reminded. 

He arrived at Leabray Caves at dark. The walk up the hill to the entrance was steep and dark, his torch the only light. At the top, he was met with a trap door and singular sign, written in red ink on a jagged sign. ‘Leabray Caves, turn back now. Evil should never see the light.’

Frankie took out his phone and snapped a picture, he could already see it coming together, ‘What Lives in Leabray Caves?’. It was getting dark, and his phone suddenly buzzed. There was a single text from his guide, 

“Sorry Frankie, something has come up and can’t do 2nite anymore, can we reschedule for tomorrow?”  it read. Sighing, Frankie looked up at the sky, trying to control his anger. He’d done plenty of exploring himself, what’s one more? Frankie had a torch, headlamp, and rope; what more could you need? Without another thought, he opened the latch and headed down the rusty ladder into the dark abyss. 

Leabray Caves was dark, dingy, and moist. Frankie’s torch illuminated a dusty path, but the light only carried so far; he was in the dark. There wasn’t much to see, just a winding path that never seemed to end. The walls slanted inwards, getting smaller and smaller with every step Frankie took. There were scratching noises within the walls, and the sound of footsteps echoing. Maybe this was a bad idea? It wasn’t like this at Coldsworth Castle. Something felt different this time, was it because he was alone? 

It felt like something was calling to him; he itched to answer.  

After a long walk through the cave’s tunnel, he came to an open space. There was a single unlit lantern hanging from the wall with a pack of matches resting on the floor. Frankie snatched one to finally create some light in the cave and filled the room with an orange glow. He looked around, and instantly wished he’d left it dark. Scattered bones lay around the space in strange, contorted positions; spiders were hanging from the ceilings, investigating the bodies themselves and strange marks were carved into the stone walls. A few words lay etched, which read: 

‘Turn Back Now. This is your final warning. They’ll enter your head.”

Frankie stared at the scene with open eyes, attempting to understand what happened there. His mind screamed warnings. Were these bodies of previous explorers like him? Or was it someone trying to scare him? That’s when he first heard it. 

“Frankie,” a voice whispered from the abyss. It was so quiet, Frankie thought he was imagining it. He stopped dead in his tracks, waiting for any more sound. “Frankie. I know you can hear me,” it hissed. 

“Hello?” Frankie replied, voice shaking in fear, “What do you want?”

“It’s me, Frankie. I’ve been waiting to talk to you again,” said the voice, the tone turned feminine. It sounded completely different and terribly familiar. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Isla?” He exclaimed, “You’re dead.” How could this be?

“I’ve been waiting to meet you again Frankie, I’ve missed you,” the voice replied. 

“Isla, I’ve missed you every day. I can’t function without you. I’m so sorry.” His eyes itched and welled. It was too good to be true. But it could be true. Let it be true. He continued down the snaking pathways; he had to know where she was. “Where are you?” 

“I’m right here, Frankie. Keep walking forwards. You’ll find me.” It cooed, gleeful. Frankie, blinded by hope, started to run through the tunnel. “Almost there, Frankie.”

“Frankie, keep going!” Another voice sounded, this one raspier and male. 

“Dad?” Frankie exclaimed, “You’re here too?”

“Of course, son. We all are. Come find us.” The voice answered. Frankie stopped in his tracks. Why would his family be in this cave? Something was wrong, he could feel it in the atmosphere. He was tired, maybe he’d gone delusional?

“Why have you stopped, Frankie?” His sister’s voice said worryingly, “Do you not want to see us?”

“How do I know it’s actually you, Isla?” Frankie answered, backed against the wall. He wanted out of this hell cave. 

“Franks, come on. You’re almost there.” He stopped in his tracks, that was his nickname from Isla, it must be her. He wanted to see her so badly; he wanted it to be true. He straightened up and started to run, following the voices of his dead family. 

The air grew thick as he ran down the cave pathways, following the grimy walls to the sound of his family’s voices echoing in his head. They wouldn’t leave him alone; he couldn’t think about anything except their words, as they echoed off the greasy walls, growing louder and longer. 

“Nearly there, Frankie!”

“Find us, Frankie.”

“Come home, Frankie.”

As he ran, he could feel his worries of the world leaving. He would soon be reunited with his family. Frankie smiled, and the path fell from beneath his feet. 

The Whisperer—a being which can’t be seen but drives victims to madness and self-destruction through manipulation of voices. 

R. C. Hale (she/her) is currently studying Creative Writing and Media Studies at University, and one day longs to write full time. She is fascinated by the uncanny and unknown and enjoys dabbling in gothic horror.