THE VOICE IN THE WALLS

I moved into the old house in November, desperate for some peace and quiet after years of living in the city. The rent was ridiculously cheap, but I didn't care. I needed a fresh start. The landlord mentioned that the previous tenant had left unexpectedly, although something about the way he avoided eye contact made me uncomfortable. I dismissed it until my third night, when I heard someone whispering from inside my bedroom wall. At first, I thought it was the plumbing, but then I heard my name. Three times. Each whisper sounded closer than the last. My stomach tightened, and a cold shiver travelled down my spine. I pressed my ear against the wallpaper, barely daring to breathe. A voice whispered, "You're not supposed to be here." I stumbled backwards, knocking over a lamp. Then came three slow, deliberate knocks from inside the wall. I stood frozen, staring at the spot, feeling an unmistakable sense that something on the other side was listening to me.

Over the next few nights, I barely slept. Every creak, every settling noise, every shadow made me jump. I started leaving the bedroom light on because I couldn't stand the darkness. Scratching sounds travelled along the walls, sometimes stopping directly behind wherever I was sitting. I began questioning my own sanity. On Thursday night, I woke at exactly 3:17 a.m. to the sound of someone breathing heavily on the other side of my bedroom wall. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I grabbed my flashlight with trembling hands and followed the sound to a section of wallpaper that appeared to be bulging outward. Suddenly, a human handprint slowly pressed against the wallpaper from the other side. I couldn't move. My legs felt completely numb. Then a voice whispered, "Please let me out." I screamed, stumbled backwards, and nearly fell down the stairs. I spent the rest of the night sitting in my car, shaking uncontrollably. When I finally returned with a hammer, the handprint was gone. Instead, someone had scratched five words into the wallpaper: "IT KNOWS YOU ARE AWAKE."

The following morning, I called the landlord, practically shouting into the phone. I demanded to know what was inside my walls. There was a long silence before he quietly asked which bedroom I was sleeping in. When I told him, he began breathing heavily. He explained that the previous tenant had been found dead inside a sealed space between those very walls. The police had never determined how he got there. I felt sick. My hands went cold, and I dropped the phone. I didn't even bother collecting all my belongings. I grabbed my keys and ran. I now live several kilometres away, but I still sleep with the lights on. Last night, at 3:17 a.m., my phone rang. An unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something compelled me to answer. It was my own voice, whispering through heavy breathing: "I found another way out." I dropped the phone and backed away, tears streaming down my face. Then I heard it. Three slow knocks. Not from the bedroom wall this time. From inside my closet.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model