"Whispers On the Midnight Road"

Part One: Whisper Lane

They say the dead don’t speak.

But I know better.

It was just past midnight. The road I drove on was silent, old, and cracked beneath my tires—an empty stretch known by locals as “Whisper Lane.” It cut straight through an ancient graveyard, where crooked headstones leaned like old men whispering secrets. Trees hung low, their branches twisted like arthritic fingers, scratching the top of my car as I drove under them. The wind whistled unnaturally—like it remembered every soul buried beneath.

I shouldn’t have taken that road. I knew it. But the GPS rerouted me, and my phone had barely one bar left. I told myself it was just a shortcut. Just a road. Just a graveyard. Nothing more.

Until my car jerked, coughed, and came to a dying stop.

I froze. My foot tapped the gas nervously. Once. Twice. Nothing but a weak click. The headlights dimmed, and the radio let out a whispering static before dying.

I tried again. Again. The engine refused to purr. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck.

I stepped out, the cold slapping me harder than I expected. The air smelled like damp earth and rusting iron. I opened the hood—useless, I had no clue what to look for—but I had to try. Nothing looked out of place.

I went around to the trunk, hoping for a flashlight, maybe some tools. But all I found was...nothing useful. I stared into that hollow space, feeling more alone than ever.

No signal.

No cars.

No people.

Only rows of gravestones standing silently beyond the fence. Watching.

I sighed, slammed the trunk shut—

—and she was there.

Standing right beside my car.

Pale.

White.

Eerily beautiful. Her long black hair danced in the wind, though the leaves around her didn’t move at all. Her eyes—dark, hollow, deep—looked ahead, not at me.

“Excuse me?” I called out.

She didn’t respond. Just started walking along the road, slow, like she had nowhere to be... and all the time in the world.

“Hello? Can you help me? My car broke down!” I yelled louder, stepping forward.

Still nothing.

Desperate, I ran toward her. Reached out my hand to grab her arm—

My fingers passed through her.

Not like a magic trick. Not like mist.

Like nothing.

Like she was never there at all.

My breath caught. My chest squeezed in terror.

I ran.

Slamming the car door shut behind me, locking everything, pulling the windows up even though they wouldn’t help. I sat frozen in the driver’s seat, heart hammering.

She stood now beside a nearby grave, just... staring at me. Unblinking. Calm.

Then, someone else appeared.

A boy. Pale like her. Handsome. Carrying a small brown bag. He walked toward her, almost floating across the gravel. That’s when I noticed—she had a small suitcase too.

Lovers.

Maybe they were... I don’t know. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I just needed to breathe. I felt foolish for panicking. My mind tried to make sense of it: They’re just actors. Maybe some weird graveyard reenactment?

I opened the door slowly. Took a breath.

I had to ask for help. No other choice.

As I stepped closer, they held hands and smiled gently at each other. They looked like they were about to run. Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Fast. Angry. Shouting.

I turned my head and saw them—a crowd of people charging from the opposite side of the road. Men holding torches and thick sticks. Faces twisted in rage. Their voices roared like thunder, though I couldn't make out words.

The couple looked terrified. They ran toward me—fast, desperate.

Before I could move—

They passed through me. Both of them.

My knees buckled.

What... what was this?

The angry mob followed. One by one, they all ran straight through me. Cold. Empty. Like ghosts running through fog.

My body trembled. My mind screamed. Something deep inside me cracked open.

And then...

The flashback hit.

The rain.

The curve in the road.

My car skidding.