مولد صوت AI 。 من Fish Audio

The walls whisper tonight. 312 steps from my bed to the window. I watch shadows dance like they used to. My hands shake. The memories flood back, bitter and sharp. Someone's laughter echoes down the hall. Not real. Never real anymore.

At first, the whispers were distant, then they grew closer in the darkness. It didn't take long before the footsteps echoed behind me. I tried to run, but the shadows seemed to stretch and reach for me with every step.

I can sense their whispers when I walk by, see them backing away slowly. They think I'm dangerous, maybe they're right. But we're getting stronger every day. Tomorrow, we strike back. Tomorrow, they'll learn what real fear feels like.

The eyes are everywhere now. We must move. The protocol has begun, and there is no turning back. They see everything we do. Every step is tracked. Every word is heard. Don't look behind you. The shadows are moving. We are out of time.

Look at yourself. Trying to understand me? Don't bother.

Is that fear I smell, or just the bitter scent of your desperation? You try so hard to maintain that mask, but it is cracking right before my eyes. Don't look away now. I want to see the exact moment you realize you have nowhere left to run.

Let me tell you about the Walker House incident of 1986. A family heard footsteps in their attic every night at 3 AM. When they investigated, they found wet, glowing footprints leading to nowhere. The prints weren't human - they had six toes and seemed to burn the wood beneath.

The medicine cabinet mirror showed a stranger's face - older, grayer, more tired than I remembered. Ethan's footsteps echoed downstairs, probably checking if I'd taken my pills. They think they're so clever, so careful. But I've learned to watch, to wait.