Chapter 1
On the third floor of the old Briarwick Orphanage stood a door no one opened—Room 39. The children said it whispered at night, a soft, papery sound like someone dragging their fingers slowly across wood.
Elliot didn’t believe them. He was twelve, too old for ghost stories, and too new to know which rules were real. So on his fourth night, when the whispering came—psssst… come in…—he decided to prove it was all nonsense.
He crept down the hallway. Each step made the floorboards sigh, as if the building itself disapproved. The whispering grew clearer.
You’re almost here… we’ve been waiting…
The doorknob was ice-cold. Elliot swallowed, told himself it was just a draft, and turned it.
Inside, the room was empty except for a tall wardrobe pushed against the far wall.
The whispering had stopped.
Elliot stepped closer. His breath fogged in front of him even though the rest of the orphanage was warm.
A thud came from inside the wardrobe.
Then another.
Then a voice from within—quiet, breathless, and horrified:
“Please… let me out… before they come back.”
Elliot froze. The voice didn’t sound like a monster. It sounded like a child.
He reached for the wardrobe handle.
Before he touched it, a small, pale hand slid out from the gap between the doors—too thin, the fingers too long, joints bending the wrong way.
The whispering returned, but now it was right beside his ear:
“Thank you for opening the door. We needed someone new.”
The wardrobe doors burst open.
The last thing Elliot saw was a dozen stretched, smiling faces pressing out from the darkness, their mouths hanging open far too wide.
Room 39 had been empty.
Now, it wasn’t.
And by morning, neither was Elliot’s bed.
