SEC-S30W5: Spooky Bedtime Stories | "The Knocking in the Walls"

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This is a fictional story.

The Ope Street house was a silent house, the sort of silence which is just, almost, just right before it makes you realize you are breathing. When Tunde was brought to live he believed that the silence was a gift. There were no such loud folks as neighbors, no traffic whatsoever and the dull buzz of electricity.

The third evening, the other one, he heard something.

The sound of the knocking at the door was so sweet,--but at the inside of the walls. Tunde had gotten up, and waited till it happened again. It did. Three snail taps, one requesting to be allowed to pass.

So he discarded it to the outlived piped. but he touched his ear upon the wall, instead. So the knocking stopped. And instead, it was replaced by a whisper, which was too small to hear, yet that must have been human.

And that night, he could not sleep. The rooms appeared to be occupied and he was isolated. The shadows were weird things, the ball of something you are no longer to see.

On the following day he questioned one of the neighbors on the house. The latter she hesitated, and then told her that she had lost her previous owner. Everyone, without any effort or allusion. She said he began talking to the walls, and lowered her voice.

The knocking was repeated on the same evening. Louder now, more urgent. The sound had seen Tunde off to the bedroom. It came like it had passed behind the wardrobe.

He waved his hands, and pulled it back. It was an ordinary wall and the noise was more noticeable. It was saying his name.

Tunde tugged himself off and was breathing hard. It was good crack and the wall shook and tore.

A hand was reaching in out of the darkness within. Streaky, battered, and shaking in the fingers like those of a man who has not opened his eyes in a long time.

Help, said a voice, which now was not at all strange.

Tunde collapsed to the door, which closed itself up. The noise was clanging on the house, and all the walls in unison.

This hand did, and touched the air. Then here was another, and another.

At morning everything was quiet in the house.

The door was open and the neighbors could not see Tunde anywhere. The scratches on the bedroom wall were so minor like the fingers that were sticking out like an object in their attempt to work free.

Months after that, we saw another tenant come attracted by cheap rent and peaceful street. The first night was about his unpacking since he did not dislike quietness.

Just before sleep, he heard it.

Three porous taps in the wall.

And he scowled, and drew nearer, not in terror, but in amazement.

On the other side, said something, patient and familiar, and waiting that he will be attentive enough to make a response. And then it knocked.

Thanks for reading my post I'm inviting @joesepha, @mesola and @pea07 to participate.