The Man of Whispers : Scary Stories – Short Horror Story

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Deep inside the gnarled trees

The Man of Whispers dwells

And O, what wonderous secrets

Do his secret whispers tell!

He does not ask for much

A simple favor or a gift

For your every curiosity

To flow between his lips

The gloomy forest welcomes you

Your trinket in your hand

Into a gentle clearing

That emerges from the stand

You find The Man is waiting there

As if he knew you’d come

And in the subtle firelight

He beckons you along

You take your seat beside The Man

Your hand stretched out in trade

He tucks your gift beneath his cloak

And now a deal’s been made

His eyes peer up expectantly

Lit by the crescent moon

You scarcely know where you should start

But start away you do

The count of ants under the dirt?

How had the earth begun?

The meaning of a warbler’s song?

You’re having so much fun!

Why is it foxes mate for life?

How high up is the sky?

Where did the ancient mammoths roam?

When is the day you die?

The last you did not speak aloud

It formed against your will

Yet even from this silent thought

The Man had heard it still

He grins a jagged, yellow grin

And tells you what he knows

And all at once your throat constricts

And ice seizes your bones

Now every quiet, dreadful thing

You pondered in the night

Alone and frightened of the dark

Comes springing to your mind

The Man of Whispers, eyes ablaze

His fingers pale and thin

Clasps his hands across his lap

And eagerly begins

Is there something after death?

And do you have a soul?

Will you feel it when the worms

Start filling you with holes?

Will the sun just fizzle out

Or violently explode?

And when the stars all disappear

Is it forever cold?

The awful Whispers fill your ears

With awful, Whispered truth

Try as you might to drown them out

It isn’t any use

The questions come unbidden

And their answers just as well

The unknown is uncertain

Certainty is certain hell

Desperate for it all to end

You lunge straight for his throat

But The Man of Whispers isn’t there

His voice became a ghost

Haunting you inside your head

You writhe and claw your eyes

And crimson copper fills your mouth

From screaming at the sky

Eventually a stillness

Settles in among the trees

As you curl unmoving in the dirt

Your head between your knees

Your final thought among the dark

A silent, broken prayer

For, please God, to save you

But you *know* He isn’t there


Deep inside the gnarled trees

The Man of Whispers dwells

And O, what awful secrets

Do his secret whispers tell!

He does not ask for much

A favor or a gift will do

And for your curiosity

You’ll be a Whisper too

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