Chapter 3 – The Sounds of an Old House
Lucy tried to convince herself the situation wasn’t strange.
Children imagined things. That was normal.
When Emma had pointed at the wall and calmly said “She’s still there,” Lucy had felt a cold ripple of unease run through her chest—but she refused to let it grow into something larger.
By the next morning, she told herself she had overreacted.
Moving to a new place could easily make a child invent imaginary friends. Emma had lost her familiar home, her school, and most of her routines. Creating an invisible companion might simply be her way of coping.
Lucy repeated that explanation several times in her head while making breakfast.
Emma, meanwhile, behaved as if nothing unusual had happened.
She hummed softly while eating toast, swinging her legs beneath the kitchen chair.
“Can I play in the yard later?” Emma asked.
“After lunch,” Lucy replied.
Emma grinned.
The normality of the moment helped Lucy relax.
Maybe she had just been tired.
Maybe she had misunderstood what she heard.
The rest of the morning passed peacefully.
Lucy spent hours unpacking boxes in the living room. Old picture frames, books, kitchen appliances—everything slowly found its place inside the unfamiliar house.
Emma played upstairs most of the time, occasionally running down to show Lucy something she had discovered.
“There’s a big closet in my room!” she said excitedly at one point.
Lucy smiled.
“Try not to climb inside the shelves.”
“I won’t.”
Emma ran back upstairs again.
The house remained quiet.
Too quiet.
By late afternoon Lucy began noticing the small sounds that belonged to the building itself.
The wooden staircase creaked whenever someone stepped on it.
The kitchen cabinets made a faint clicking noise as the temperature changed.
Even the walls occasionally released soft cracking sounds, like distant fingers snapping inside the structure.
Lucy reminded herself again:
Old houses make noises.
She had heard that phrase many times.
And she began to realize how true it was.
The sounds weren’t frightening once she understood them.
They were simply part of the house breathing and settling.
By evening Lucy had started to identify them.
The pipes in the bathroom tapped softly when someone turned on hot water.
The attic rafters groaned whenever the wind moved through the trees outside.
And sometimes the wooden floor upstairs creaked even when nobody was walking.
Lucy assumed the boards were expanding and contracting with the cooling night air.
Once she accepted that explanation, the house became easier to live in.
Dinner that evening felt peaceful.
Emma talked about decorating her room and drawing pictures for the walls.
Lucy listened, grateful for the calmness of the moment.
After dinner, Emma went upstairs to brush her teeth while Lucy finished cleaning the kitchen.
Outside, darkness spread across the forest surrounding the house.
The tall maple tree in the backyard scratched softly against the window glass whenever the wind pushed its branches.
Lucy turned off the kitchen lights and headed upstairs.
The hallway felt dim and quiet.
Emma’s bedroom door was open.
Lucy stepped inside.
Emma was already under the blankets.
“Ready for bed?” Lucy asked.
Emma nodded sleepily.
Lucy tucked the blanket around her daughter and turned off the lamp beside the bed.
For a few minutes everything remained still.
Lucy stood quietly in the room, listening.
Nothing.
No whispering.
No strange conversations.
Just the gentle sound of Emma breathing.
Lucy kissed Emma’s forehead.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
Lucy left the door slightly open and walked down the hallway toward her own bedroom.
The house gradually settled into nighttime silence again.
At first, Lucy slept well.
But sometime after midnight, she woke suddenly.
She didn’t know why.
For a few seconds she lay still, staring into the darkness.
Then she heard it.
A faint sound.
Tap.
Lucy held her breath.
The noise came again.
Tap. Tap.
It was soft.
Almost delicate.
Lucy pushed herself up in bed.
The sound wasn’t coming from downstairs.
It was coming from somewhere nearby.
She stepped out of bed and walked slowly into the hallway.
The floorboards creaked under her feet.
The tapping stopped.
Lucy listened.
Silence filled the house again.
She stood there for a moment, wondering if she had imagined it.
Then—
Tap.
Lucy turned her head immediately.
The sound came from Emma’s room.
Her chest tightened slightly.
Lucy walked down the hallway and paused outside the door.
Emma was asleep.
Lucy could hear her soft breathing from inside.
The tapping sound came again.
This time Lucy knew exactly where it came from.
Not from the window.
Not from the floor.
Not from the ceiling.
The sound was coming from the wall beside Emma’s bed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Lucy felt a cold shiver crawl slowly down her spine.
Because the tapping wasn’t random.
It had rhythm.
Three knocks.
A pause.
Then two more.
Lucy stared at the wall in the dim moonlight.
The pattern repeated again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A pause.
Tap. Tap.
Lucy whispered softly to herself.
“It’s just pipes.”
But even as she said it, she knew that explanation didn’t feel right.
Because pipes didn’t sound like that.
Pipes didn’t knock in patterns.
Lucy slowly stepped into the room.
Emma stirred slightly in her sleep.
Then she murmured something quietly.
Lucy froze.
Emma’s eyes were still closed.
But her lips moved.
And in a sleepy whisper, Emma said:
“Goodnight.”
Lucy frowned.
Emma was dreaming.
That had to be it.
Lucy turned toward the wall again.
The tapping stopped.
The house returned to silence.
Lucy stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank white paint.
Then she slowly walked back into the hallway.
But as she reached the door—
The knocking started again.
Soft.
Slow.
Almost polite.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
