In a small, forgotten town, there stood an old, abandoned house that the locals avoided. It was said to be cursed, haunted by the whispers of its former inhabitants. Curiosity got the better of a group of friends one stormy night, and they decided to explore the house.

As they entered, the door creaked ominously behind them, slamming shut on its own. The air grew heavy, and an eerie silence enveloped them. They split up to search the rooms, armed only with flashlights. In the kitchen, Sarah found a dusty old diary, its pages yellowed with age. The last entry sent chills down her spine: "They won't let me leave. The whispers... they know."

Meanwhile, in the living room, Jake felt a cold breeze brush against his neck. He turned, but there was no one there. The whispers began, soft at first, then growing louder, echoing through the halls. "Leave... leave..."

Panic set in as the friends regrouped. The whispers now sounded like desperate pleas. They rushed toward the front door, but it wouldn't budge. The shadows around them thickened, forming dark shapes that danced on the walls.

In the chaos, Sarah dropped the diary, and as it hit the floor, the whispers grew frantic. "Help us!" they cried. In a moment of courage, Jake grabbed the diary and shouted, "What do you want?"

The room fell silent. Suddenly, the shadows surged forward, and the friends felt an overwhelming force pulling them toward the darkness. They realized too late that the house wasn't just haunted - it was hungry.

As dawn broke, the house stood silent once more, the whispers fading into nothing. The townsfolk would find only the diary, left open to the last entry, forever awaiting the next curious souls to wander too close.