short fiction · 2026-10-12

Echoes in the Empty Hall

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I slipped through the rusted gate at dawn, the air thick with dust and forgotten whispers. Shadows stretched across the cracked marble floor, and a faint, rhythmic thumping echoed from somewhere beyond the broken stairwell. Figures moved silently along the walls, their forms indistinct yet unmistakably present, as if they had been waiting for an intruder to awaken them. I paused, feeling the chill of unseen eyes upon my neck, yet no sound broke the stillness. The house seemed to hold its breath, and in that breath, I sensed a story long sealed, now begging to be heard.