Story 2: “Voices in the Vent”

Story 2: “Voices in the Vent”

They moved into the house in early October. A fresh start, a quiet neighborhood, a cheap deal they couldn’t pass up. Lindsay, her husband Jared, and their six-year-old son Evan were ready for change.

But something was wrong with the vents.

It started with whispers.

Lindsay first noticed them while folding laundry in the upstairs bedroom. The heating had kicked in for the first time that fall, and as the air whooshed through the old metal ducts, she swore she heard faint voices. She paused, leaned closer to the vent, and listened.

“...he’s watching…”

A chill ran through her.

She quickly turned the thermostat off, brushing it off as air movement or old house noises. Jared laughed when she mentioned it.

“Old vents sound weird. Don’t spook yourself.”

But the next day, Evan came into their room in the middle of the night, wide-eyed and pale.

“There’s someone in my vent,” he whispered.

Jared sighed. “It’s just wind, buddy.”

“No,” Evan insisted. “He talks to me. He says... he wants to play.”

They checked the vent. Nothing inside. No animals. No loose screws. Just air.

But Evan refused to sleep alone after that.

By the end of the week, the whispers grew louder — and more frequent. Lindsay could now hear them in every room with a vent. It was always the same voice — deep, male, slow — murmuring words she couldn’t always make out. Sometimes laughing softly. Sometimes breathing heavily.

And sometimes… calling her name.

“Lindssseeeey…”

She had the ducts cleaned. Twice. The HVAC guy looked confused both times. “They’re fine,” he said. “A little old, but nothing weird.”

But it was weird. Because then things started appearing in the vents.

At first, it was a single black marble in the hallway vent. Then a small cloth doll. A tiny shoe.

Objects Evan had never owned.

“Where are these coming from?” she asked Jared, panicking.

Jared didn’t answer. He looked exhausted. Pale. He said the voice had started talking to him too.

“He… he said I need to give something up.”

Lindsay grabbed Evan and booked a motel that night. But Jared refused to come.

“I need to fix this,” he muttered. “He said I can make it stop.”

She didn’t sleep.

At 3:03 a.m., her phone rang.

It was Jared.

His voice was soft, almost drowned out by a loud humming. “He’s in the vents. I see him. Don’t come back.”

The line went dead.

Lindsay and Evan returned home the next morning. The front door was unlocked.

The vents were humming loudly.

Jared was gone.

The police searched the entire house. No signs of a struggle. No note. No trace of him in or around the neighborhood.

The only strange thing they found was deep inside the crawlspace where the vents all converged. Wedged inside the ductwork was a single human tooth. Blackened. Still warm.

They sealed the vents. Lindsay moved out a week later.

---

A year passed.

Lindsay now lives in a small apartment with Evan. She doesn’t talk about what happened.

But sometimes, when the heater kicks on in the winter… Evan tilts his head to the vent and whispers, “Hi Jared.”

And then he smiles.

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