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Back Whisper in the Dark
Chapters (36)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. About the Author
  33. Books by Joseph Bruchac
  34. Credits
  35. Copyright
  36. About the Publisher

The one with the twisted mind hid from the sun. When the clean light of the sun returned at dawn, he hid in the darkness of night and in the deep caves that go beneath our ancient hills. His fingers turned into claws and his teeth grew long. His hunger was such that he began to hunt other people, cutting their throats with his razor-sharp claws so that he could drink the blood of his victims. All that made him human left him, and he became nothing but hunger. He became a monster.

But it was not only blood that he thirsted for. He fed on the fear of his prey. Darkness grows stronger when there is fear. Few ever saw him, but our people knew that he was there. Those who were given messages in dreams knew about him. They knew that before the twisted-mind monster took its victim, the one it chose would hear a voice. A whisper. A whisper in the dark.

Only when you were his chosen victim did you hear the Whisperer’s voice, that voice as hard and cold as flint. But you didn’t see him, not yet. The old stories say that no one ever sees the Whisperer in the Dark when it first lets you know it’s chosen you as its prey. You just hear its voice that first time. It plays with you, like a cat playing with a mouse, making you more and more terrified. It is only later, perhaps even days later, after you have become scared enough, that it will really come for you with its razor-sharp claws.

Soon, very soon, it is going to come for me.

1

WHO’S THERE?

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THE FIRST CALL didn’t really scare me. Not one bit. And why should it? The phone rang and I answered it.

“Hello.”

Silence on the other end.

“Hello,” I said again. “Hel-lo?” I was getting annoyed now. I tapped my numb left hand on the counter. A silence like that could mean that the person who called was hesitating because they had something really, really important to say. Maybe it was that reporter wanting to follow up on her article that had appeared last week about my running. It hadn’t been a bad piece, despite its corny title: DESCENDANT OF CHIEFS WINS BIG MEET. Or maybe it was great news—like that I’d won a prize or something.