CHAPT 11: Whispers & Rumors

The night passed without further disturbances, but Lynda found herself unable to sleep properly. She kept waking up every now and then, listening for any unusual sounds. The house felt different—safer, maybe—knowing Isaac was there, but that didn’t mean her mind was at ease.

She had too many questions. About what happened. About Isaac. About the house.

By the time the first traces of morning light peeked through her bedroom curtains, she sighed and gave up on trying to sleep.

Throwing off the blanket, she got up, stretched her sore muscles, and decided to get ready for work.

As she made her way downstairs, she paused at the sight in her living room.

Isaac was still there, lying on her couch.

For someone who usually carried a guarded, unreadable expression, he looked oddly peaceful in his sleep. His sharp features were relaxed, his breathing steady. One of his arms was draped over his stomach, while the other rested behind his head. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his shirt had ridden up just a little, exposing a sliver of toned skin.

Lynda swallowed and quickly shook her head. Stop staring. You’re being weird.

Clearing her throat, she walked over and nudged his arm lightly. “Hey. Time to wake up.”

Isaac didn’t budge.

She tried again, pressing his shoulder. “Isaac.”

Still no response.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned down and said in a firmer voice, “Wake up, or I’m throwing a bucket of water on you.”

That did the trick.

Isaac’s brows furrowed slightly before his eyes slowly blinked open. He exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at her with still-drowsy eyes.

Lynda smirked. “You’re really out of it.”

Isaac yawned—actually yawned—before sitting up. “Didn’t realize I fell asleep that hard,” he muttered, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

Lynda raised an eyebrow. “Do you even sleep properly? You knocked out like you haven’t rested in days.”

Isaac ran a hand through his hair, standing up and stretching. “Work keeps me busy.”

Lynda didn’t miss how he avoided directly answering her question. Always so vague.

“Well, thanks for staying,” she said, grabbing her bag and heading toward the door. “I need to get to work.”

Isaac nodded, glancing out the window. “Want me to check the yard before you leave?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Without another word, he walked out first, scanning the perimeter. He crouched near the broken flowerpot from last night, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lynda stood by her car, watching. “Something wrong?”

Isaac looked up at her, then shook his head. “No. Just thinking.”

That wasn’t exactly reassuring, but she decided not to press him. Instead, she got into her car, rolling down the window. “See you later, Isaac.”

He gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable as always.

As Lynda drove off, her thoughts swirled with questions.

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At work, she struggled to focus.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, but her mind was elsewhere. She needed to talk to someone about everything that had happened. Someone who wouldn’t brush it off as paranoia.

And there was only one person who fit that criteria.

Grabbing her phone, she sent a quick text:

Lynda: Lunch? I need to talk.

A reply came almost instantly.

Stella: Ooh, sounds dramatic. I’m in.

A few hours later, they met at a small café near Lynda’s office. Stella was already waiting at a corner booth, sipping on an iced latte when Lynda arrived.

“Alright,” Stella said the moment Lynda sat down. “Spill.”

Lynda exhaled, rubbing her temples. “It’s… a lot.”

Stella grinned. “Even better.”

Rolling her eyes, Lynda launched into everything that had happened. The crash in the middle of the night, the shadowy figure, the eerie whisper, and how Isaac had stayed over to keep watch.

By the time she finished, Stella’s eyes were wide with excitement.

“Okay, first of all,” Stella said, setting her drink down. “That’s freaking creepy. Like, full-on horror movie vibes.”

Lynda sighed. “I know.”

“Second of all—Isaac? Staying over? In your house? Overnight?” Stella wiggled her eyebrows. “And you expect me not to read into that?”

Lynda groaned. “Not everything is about romance, Stella.”

Her friend leaned forward with a smirk. “Oh, come on. A mysterious, hot neighbor stays at your place overnight because some creepy stalker is lurking around? That’s straight out of a thriller romance novel.”

Lynda rubbed her temples. “You’re missing the point.”

“I am listening,” Stella said, grinning. “I just like messing with you.”

Lynda sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Should I report it to the police? I didn’t actually see anyone’s face, and there’s no evidence.”

Stella tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You could, but let’s be real—cops won’t do much unless there’s actual proof. And right now, all you’ve got is a broken flowerpot and a creepy voice in the night.”

Lynda frowned. “So what? I just… wait for something worse to happen?”

Stella’s smile faded slightly. “No. But you should be careful. Lock your doors. Maybe get security cameras.”

Lynda nodded, already considering it.

Stella’s playful smirk returned. “Or, you know, let Isaac stay over every night. Built-in security.”

Lynda groaned again. “Stella.”

Her friend laughed. “Okay, okay. But seriously—be careful, Lynda. Something’s off about this whole situation. And I don’t mean just the weird stalker vibes. There’s something about that house, isn’t there?”

Lynda hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. And I’m going to find out what.”

Stella leaned back, crossing her arms. “Well, count me in. I love a good mystery.”

Lynda managed a small smile. If anyone could help keep her grounded, it was Stella.

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t just some mystery for fun.

Something was really wrong.

And she had a feeling things were only going to get worse.

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While Lynda and Isaac were at work, the events of the previous night had already become a topic of conversation among the neighbors.

By mid-morning, a small group of them gathered at the corner of the street. The usual morning chatter had shifted to something more animated as they exchanged hushed voices, casting furtive glances toward Lynda’s house.

"I heard there was some noise last night," murmured Mrs. Marlow, who lived across the street. She was a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. “A crash. Glass breaking. Someone said it was a flowerpot, but I don’t know...”

"Yeah, I heard the same thing," said Mrs. Dawson, an older woman in her fifties who lived two doors down. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “But the real story is what happened afterward. A man came to her door, right? Isaac, the one from next door? He stayed the night.”

Mrs. Marlow raised an eyebrow. “Stayed the night? And why would he do that? Doesn’t he have his own place?”

"I’m not sure," Mrs. Dawson replied. “But word is, he checked the yard before leaving this morning. Like he was making sure there was no evidence or something. Weird, right?”

“Too many things don’t add up,” Mrs. Marlow muttered. “That girl’s been here a couple of weeks, and already, strange things are happening. First, her flowers get destroyed, and now this? It’s not a coincidence."

"I wonder if she knows what’s really going on," said a voice from behind them. Mrs. Richards, a woman who always seemed to be watching from her window, had joined the conversation. She was older than the others and spoke with an air of authority. “That house has history, you know. People have disappeared around here before.”

The group grew silent. None of them had said as much before, but they all knew. The house Lynda had moved into wasn’t just any old property. It had been empty for years, and the rumors that surrounded it were unsettling.

Mrs. Marlow’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Let’s hope she doesn’t find out too much. People around here know better than to poke around. The last person who tried—well, they were never seen again.”

The neighbors exchanged uneasy glances before scattering, each returning to their homes with lingering uncertainty about the mysterious events unfolding next door.

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