After a while the sounds stopped, and the house fell into a heavy silence. Lydia went back into the room and sat down hard in a chair. She tried to tell herself it was just the old structure settling.
Wood shrinks. Boards pop. Old houses make noise. But those sounds had been too much like footsteps. That night she got into bed, but sleep was a long time coming.
Lydia listened to every creak and rustle the house made. The place seemed to breathe, as if it had a life of its own. More and more, she had the uneasy feeling she was not alone in it.
The next few days passed in relative peace and hard work. Lydia kept busy and slowly adjusted to the place. The neighbors remained polite but distant.
No one stopped by. No one offered help. Lydia understood that people needed time. But once darkness fell, the house became hard to relax in.
At night it seemed to wake up. It creaked, groaned, and now and then she thought she heard soft steps or a faint whisper behind the wall. Each time she took her flashlight and checked every room, and each time she found nothing.
She kept telling herself it was stress, exhaustion, and imagination. Still, the fear never fully left. One night she woke suddenly from a deep cold.
The room was freezing, though she had banked the stove before bed. Sitting up, she saw that the window was standing wide open. Cold air moved through the room, stirring the candle stub on the table.
Lydia knew she had latched that window herself. When she went over, she found the metal catch neatly slid aside. It looked as though someone had opened it from inside the room.
With trembling hands she shut the window and fastened it again. Back inside the sleeping bag, she shook—whether from cold or nerves, she couldn’t say. Then, in the silence, she heard a woman’s voice.
Soft. Sad. Calling her name twice. Lydia went still and listened with everything in her.
The voice came again, even quieter this time, asking for help. It seemed to come from deep inside the wall—or maybe under the floor.
Lydia jumped up, switched on the flashlight, and swept the beam over every inch of the room. It was empty. In desperation she called out into the dark.
The only answer was silence. The voice was gone as if it had never been there. Lydia searched the whole house, checking every corner.
She looked through the mudroom, the kitchen, the pantry. No one. Back in bed, she sat with her knees pulled up, rocking slightly, trying to convince herself she was not losing her mind…
