“I need you to tell me everything,” I replied. “All of it.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Disappear?”
“No forwarding address. No goodbye. Just… gone.”
“What about the noise?”
He swallowed. “It started with the last owner. Same as now. Daytime only. Like the house was practicing.”
“Practicing what?”
“Being lived in.”
I went back inside with him.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
At exactly nine o’clock, something shifted above us.
A thud.
Then another.
Footsteps, running back and forth, growing louder.
The attic hatch began to open on its own.
I ran.
I don’t remember leaving the house. Only being outside, gasping, while Mr. Harlan screamed behind me.
The house went silent.
The police found nothing.
No attic.
No hallway.
No Mr. Harlan.
Just me, standing alone in my living room, neighbors watching through their windows.
That night, I slept deeply for the first time in weeks.
In the morning, I woke to the sound of movement downstairs.
Furniture shifting.
Footsteps running.
At nine o’clock.
I checked my phone.
A message from an unknown number blinked on the screen.
Your house gets so loud during the day.
I typed back, hands steady now.
That’s not possible.
Nobody should be inside.
