The Silent NightOnce, in a quiet town nestled between the mountains, there was a boy named Elias. He lived in a small house with his parents on the edge of the forest, a place known for its eerie stillness at night. The trees whispered secrets, and shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should. People often said the woods were haunted, but Elias had never been afraid. His parents always assured him there was nothing to fear. But that was before the night. Elias wasn’t always a bad child. He had once been joyful, full of laughter, and even had friends. But something changed. A darkness began to creep into his heart, something he couldn’t explain. It started with whispers—soft murmurs that seemed to come from the walls, the floor, the dark corners of the house. His parents never heard them, and when Elias tried to tell them, they dismissed it as his imagination. But the whispers grew louder. "Do it, Elias," they would say in the middle of the night. "Do it. Set yourself free." It was then that the nightmares began. Terrifying dreams where Elias would find himself standing over his parents, a knife in his hand, their blood staining the floor. He would wake up in cold sweats, his heart racing, but the nightmares didn’t stop. They continued every night, growing more vivid and real with each passing hour. One fateful night, as the wind howled through the trees and the moon hung high in the sky, the whispers became unbearable. They filled his mind, making it impossible to sleep. They promised him freedom, a release from the torment, but at a terrible cost. "Kill them," the voice coaxed. "End their suffering. End yours." Elias stood at the foot of his parents’ bed, the knife cold in his hand. His heart was a thunderstorm, his hands shaking. His parents slept soundly, unaware of the darkness their son was about to unleash. He hesitated, unsure if this was real or just another nightmare, but the voice inside his head grew louder, more demanding. "Do it." Without thinking, Elias raised the knife. The next morning, the sun barely broke over the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the house. The town was quiet, as it always was. But the silence inside the house was deafening. When the neighbors came by, worried after seeing no sign of life for hours, they found the doors unlocked. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of death. Elias was sitting in the corner of his room, his eyes hollow and empty. He had a strange, serene smile on his face, but there was no joy in it. His parents lay in their bed, lifeless, their eyes wide open, frozen in a final, terror-stricken expression. The whispers were gone. But Elias wasn’t free. The house felt colder than ever before, and the shadows seemed to twist and crawl. No one could explain the horror that had occurred that night, but one thing was certain: Elias was never the same again. The whispers had never really left. They still followed him, lurking in the silence, reminding him of the night he murdered his parents. And every night, when the darkness falls and the wind howls through the trees, Elias still hears them. "Do it again," they say, their voices faint but persistent. "Do it again." And the house waits, holding its breath.
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