I got bored and asked chat gpt to write a 20 minutes or less horror movie. @loud-trash-arcade I Think we should make this for shits and giggles.
Title: Whispers in the Walls
A weathered, isolated farmhouse looms under a dim moon. The surrounding field is overgrown, and the wind stirs the leaves. SARAH, early 30s, with a camera bag slung over her shoulder, pulls up in her car. She looks uncertain but determined as she steps out, taking a deep breath of the cold air.
This is the place... Grandpa’s house.
The front door creaks open. The room is empty, save for dust-covered furniture and broken lamps. The smell of mildew fills the air. SARAH surveys the room, hesitant.
Okay. Let’s get this over with.
She pulls out a flashlight and clicks it on, the beam cutting through the darkness. She shines it on an old family portrait on the wall—a man, woman, and two children. She lingers on the faces.
You never told me the whole story, did you, Grandpa?
As she steps forward, she hears a faint, unsettling whisper—barely audible, coming from the hallway beyond.
The flashlight flickers as SARAH hesitantly walks down the narrow hallway. The house groans under her weight. A door at the end of the hall stands slightly ajar. Another faint whisper calls her name.
She approaches the door. The floorboards creak underfoot. SARAH reaches for the handle and pushes the door open.
The room is almost pitch black, save for the faint glow of the flashlight in SARAH's hand. The walls are covered in old wallpaper, peeling and warped. On one of the walls, she sees strange symbols, crudely drawn in what looks like charcoal.
A whisper sounds again, much closer now.
Her breath quickens. SARAH takes a few steps forward, her light scanning the room. The flashlight flickers again, then dies.
Suddenly, the flashlight turns back on by itself, pointing at a door opposite her. The door creaks open slowly on its own. The air grows frigid.
The room is smaller and darker. The air is thick with the smell of decay. SARAH steps inside and surveys the room.
Suddenly, she spots something—a child’s drawing on the wall. A crude stick figure with hollow eyes and a wide, distorted smile. Her heart races.
The whispering grows louder, now a chorus of voices.
You should’ve left. You should’ve left…
Suddenly, a loud CRASH behind her. She spins around. The door slams shut.
She tries the door, but it won’t budge. The voices intensify, now echoing through the walls.
SARAH panics, banging on the door.
The room grows colder still. SARAH’s breath is visible in the air. Her body trembles as she looks around frantically.
The camera pulls back from the living room. SARAH’s voice can still be heard faintly, screaming for help.
The house is silent again. Only the distant howling of the wind can be heard.
The camera zooms out slowly from the house. A final, chilling whisper—this time, from outside the walls.
The house stands still in the dark, isolated. The wind picks up.
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