The Midnight Whisper

The clock read 3 a.m. when I stumbled out of bed for water. A faint voice drifted from my son’s room, calling, “Mom, can you turn off the light?” Without a second thought, I flicked the switch off. As I crawled back into bed, a chilling realization struck—my son wasn’t home. He’d gone camping with friends two days ago. Panic seized me, and I bolted to his room, heart pounding. The space was empty, the air thick with an eerie silence. Then, I

noticed it: the window slightly ajar, curtains swaying in the night breeze. A cold sweat broke out as I imagined an intruder mimicking his voice. I grabbed my phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands, and waited in the hallway, clutching a kitchen knife. The police arrived, searched the house, and found no one. Yet, that voice lingers in my mind, unanswered. Was it a dream, a prank, or something more sinister? I haven’t slept since.