Capítulo 10: Whispers of the Past
The whispers started again, low and rhythmic, wrapping around Ezra's ears like an unwelcome lullaby. He lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling, trying to drown them out by counting the cracks in the plaster.
"One... two... three—nope, still creepy."
The whispers grew louder, weaving together in an unsettling harmony. Ezra groaned, sitting up and throwing the blanket off his legs.
"Alright, I get it!" he snapped at the empty room. "You're mysterious and spooky. Congratulations. Now could you let me sleep for once?"
The key on the nightstand pulsed faintly in response, its soft glow lighting up the shadows that danced along the walls. Ezra glared at it, rubbing his temples.
"You know," he said, picking up the lantern, "normal people get a goodnight text. I get haunted."
The key hummed louder, as if mocking him. Ezra groaned again, pulling on his jacket. "Fine. Let's see what fresh horror you've got for me tonight."
---
The hallway was colder than usual, and every creak of the floorboards under his boots sounded like a shotgun blast in the silence. Ezra's lantern flickered weakly, its glow barely enough to illuminate the oppressive shadows pressing in on all sides.
"Perfect," he muttered, gripping the lantern tighter. "Because what's a haunted hallway without flickering lights?"
The whispers wound around him like an invisible thread, pulling him toward the west wing. Ezra quickened his pace, glancing over his shoulder every few steps.
"I swear," he said to no one in particular, "if Grimwald pops out of nowhere again, I'm filing a complaint with... whoever runs haunted inns."
The plain wooden door at the end of the corridor loomed ahead, its surface gleaming faintly in the lantern light. Ezra hesitated, the key burning warm in his pocket. The whispers swirled around the door, forming words he could almost understand.
"...open... the... truth..."
"Oh yeah, that doesn't sound ominous at all," Ezra muttered, pulling out the key. He slid it into the lock, the click echoing through the empty hallway like a gunshot. The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit room beyond.
---
The circular room was just as Ezra remembered: shelves crammed with dusty books and jars, a faint bluish glow emanating from a crystal orb on a pedestal. But the air was heavier this time, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. Shadows rippled along the walls, twisting and curling as if alive.
"Okay," Ezra said, stepping inside. "Back in the creepy magic library. Love what you've done with the place."
The whispers softened as he approached the large wooden table in the center of the room. Spread across its surface were sheets of parchment covered in strange symbols and spidery handwriting. Ezra squinted at the text, tilting his head like it might help him decipher the bizarre script.
"'Ritual of Binding,'" he read aloud. "'To tether the soul and harness its essence...'" He frowned. "Wow. You know what this room needs? More therapy brochures."
Before he could read further, the air shifted behind him. A soft creak broke the silence, and Ezra froze, the lantern shaking in his hand.
"Please let that be the wind," he whispered. Slowly, he turned, the lantern's glow sweeping over the doorway.
Grimwald stood there, his face as stern and unreadable as ever.
Ezra jumped so hard he nearly dropped the lantern. "Oh, come on! Could you stop doing that? One of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack."
"You shouldn't be here," Grimwald said, his voice low and steady.
"Well, you're late," Ezra shot back, gesturing to the table. "I've already been spooked by the whispers and cursed keys. I'm practically a VIP at this point."
Grimwald stepped into the room, his eyes sweeping over the parchments. "This place holds memories best left undisturbed."
"Yeah, I'm getting that vibe," Ezra said, crossing his arms. "But since I'm here, maybe you can explain why this inn has a secret room full of soul-binding rituals? Is that part of the 'charm'?"
Grimwald didn't respond immediately. Instead, he moved to the table, his fingers brushing over the yellowed parchment. "This room is a relic of the inn's past. A time when its purpose was... different."
"Different how?" Ezra pressed. "And don't say 'beyond my understanding.' I'm running out of patience for riddles."
Grimwald sighed, his shoulders stiffening. "There was a time when the inn was not a sanctuary. It was a tool—a means of preserving the balance."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "And by balance, you mean...?"
"Sacrifices," Grimwald said simply. "The inn is tied to forces beyond comprehension. In its earliest days, lives were given to sustain its existence."
Ezra took a step back, his stomach churning. "You're saying this place was built on... blood magic?"
Grimwald nodded once. "The rituals were meant to appease the forces that maintain the inn's power. Without them, the inn cannot exist."
"Great," Ezra said, throwing up his hands. "So the building I'm living in is basically a giant supernatural crime scene. Awesome."
Before Grimwald could respond, the crystal orb flared with light, flooding the room with a cold, bluish glow. The whispers surged again, louder and more chaotic, swirling around Ezra like a storm.
"Okay, I'm officially done," Ezra said, backing toward the door. "You can keep your haunted library. I'm out."
The light dimmed as quickly as it had flared, leaving the room in heavy silence. When Ezra looked back, Grimwald was gone.
"Yeah, no, that's fine," Ezra muttered, stumbling out of the room. "Just vanish. Totally normal."
---
Back in his room, Ezra slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his chest heaving. The key on the nightstand pulsed faintly, its glow casting long, flickering shadows on the walls.
"This place is going to kill me," he muttered, pacing the small space. "And not even in a cool, heroic way. Just a 'found dead clutching a cursed key' kind of way."
The whispers returned, soft but persistent, threading through the air like smoke. Ezra froze, staring at the key.
"Not tonight," he said firmly. "I'm not playing along."
The key hummed louder, almost defiant. Ezra groaned, throwing himself onto the cot and pulling the blanket over his head.
"Fine," he muttered. "Wake me up when the apocalypse starts."
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
furrfun
furrfun "Ezra’s nightly adventures in bad decisions continue! Who needs sleep when you have whispers, glowing keys, and Grimwald’s perfectly-timed entrances? Would you open the creepy ritual room or barricade yourself with a mop? Let me know—while I make sure my house doesn’t have a secret soul-binding chamber."
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