Sammy the Suspiciously Absent's Spooky Shack

Eventually the wagon squeaked to a halt, and the driver informed us that this was our first stop, with those immortal words spoken by wagon drivers everywhere: "Git out you stinkin' bums."
I refrained from commenting on just whose posterior I felt was the most odorous, and scrambled down from the cart like an egg.
A non smelly one.

With a name like 'Mountains of Despair', I had been expecting that our destination was going to be somewhat mountainous, with elements thereof which would cause an emotion somewhat akin to grief.
I had not been expecting a small shack, somewhat weather-worn, with one of the windows broken, dead flowers in the flower garden, and a hand-painted 'MoonTans off Disper' roughly scrawled on the door in black paint which had run down over the doorstep before drying.
However, I refused to let this unexpected development get to me - especially since this was the first stop my companions had reached with me, and I wanted to look good in front of them, particularly the tracker, who looked like he was ready to gut me if I so much as sneezed whimpily - and walked confidently to the door.
I knocked three times.
The door creaked slightly, and fell backwards out of its hinges, releasing a small cloud of dust from within the building (which thanked me for rescuing it, promised to repay me one day, and ran off as fast as its dusty legs could take it to check on whether its sister had remembered to record Gossip Girl for it).
I peered in through the doorway, and asked a polite "Hello?"
There was no answer, although admittedly the question was a little vaguely worded.

Usually at a moment like this I would have paused to think through my options - there could have been any sort of murderous devil in that shack! - but before I could do so, I noticed the tracker fold his arms impatiently, and decided that it would be safer not to irritate him. Better the devil I didn't know, I always said!
I strode forward over the horizontal door, and beheld the shack's interior.
The room was set out like a small museum, with models of various mountains sporting sad expressions covering shelves all around the room. An odd theme for a museum, yes, but not the oddest I had seen. The Museum of 'Drawings made by sloths of Ducks wearing pants' took that title, especially considering that it had absolutely no drawings in the museum, as the proprietor had yet to successfully teach sloths to draw ducks wearing pants, and a museum called 'Replicas of Famous Mosaics Drawn by Sloths' just didn't fit his long-term vision.
The 'MoonTans off Disper' shack was quite cozy actually, in a dusty, worn-out, deserted, termite-infested, mould-covered, most-floorboards-missing, dirty, greasy way. But most importantly, it seemed deserted.
I had never been happier.

"Hi" came a nearby whisper.
I screamed and leapt into the air, flailing my arms in every direction I could think of, and quite a few I'm sure I made up on the spot.
By the time I landed, both the barbarian and the warrior-girl had entered the building brandishing their swords in a manner that would have alarmed me if they were not my companions. Close on their heels, the tracker was brandishing a short knife in a manner that terrified me despite him being a companion. Close on his heels, the midget monk was brandishing a ladle, and the minstrel was brandishing a lute... which didn't really worry me at all, to be perfectly honest.

"What happened?" the barbarian asked heroically.
Still thinking of the tracker, I responded as manly-ly as I could muster, by bursting into tears and sobbing "There was a voice" on to the barbarian's broad shoulder. He seemed quite uncomfortable with my outburst, but managed to awkwardly pat me on the back in a vaguely reassuring manner.
This made me feel a little better, and also helped me burp.

Once my sobs had subsided (and with one eye cautiously watching the openly disgusted tracker) we all scanned the shack carefully, looking for the source of the whisper.
Eventually, we decided that the shack was once again completely empty, and that whatever had whispered was now long go..

"Hi."

I screamed and leapt into the air again, striking out with my fists to protect myself from whatever invisible foe continued to attack me with its ferocious whispers. I felt one of my fists connect with something, and rejoiced to myself that my unseen adversary had felt my wrath.
Landing, I realised I had struck the tracker in the jaw.

This time when the whisper happened, the barbarian had noticed a gnome disguised as one of the mountain models, and with the help of the midget monk, they had managed to bottle the next whisper it emmitted, but I barely noticed this.
Even as we re-boarded the cart and began the journey to our next destination, my mind was elsewhere, focussed solely on the tracker's now swollen lip.

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