I spun around, but there was no one there. The whisper seemed to come from all around me, echoing off the trees. I shook my head, telling myself it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. But the feeling of being watched lingered.
I got back in my car and continued driving, trying to clear my head. But my mind kept wandering back to the house, to Emily's diary, and to the strange occurrences that had been happening since I arrived.
As I drove into town, I noticed a strange message on a billboard. "The house isn't done with you yet," it read. I slammed on the brakes, my heart racing. Who was doing this? And how did they know about the house?
I pulled into a parking lot and pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found a number for a local historian. Maybe he could tell me more about the house and its history.
The historian, a man named Mr. Jenkins, agreed to meet with me at a local café. I arrived early, sipping on a cup of coffee as I waited for him to arrive.
Mr. Jenkins was a tall, thin man with a kind face. He listened intently as I told him about the house, about Emily's diary, and about the strange occurrences that had been happening.
When I finished, he nodded thoughtfully. "The house has a dark history," he said. "It's been abandoned for decades, but people say it's cursed."
"Cursed?" I repeated.
Mr. Jenkins leaned in, his voice low. "Yes, cursed. People who go in don't come out. Or if they do, they're never the same."
I felt a chill run down my spine. "What do you know about Emily?" I asked.
Mr. Jenkins' expression turned somber. "Emily was a young girl who lived in the house over a century ago. She died under mysterious circumstances. Some say she was murdered. Others say she was driven mad by the spirits that inhabit the house."
I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Spirits?"
Mr. Jenkins nodded. "Yes, spirits. The house has a reputation for being one of the most haunted places in the country."
As I left the café, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I looked around, but there was no one there. The streets were empty, the only sound the distant hum of crickets.
But then, I saw something that made my blood run cold. A piece of paper on the ground, with a message scrawled on it in red ink. "They're waiting for you.