Julia had always ignored the little noises in the house—the creaks of old wood, the groan of the pipes. It was part of the charm, or so she told herself. But tonight was different. There was something more, something that shouldn't be there. A faint, rhythmic tapping echoed from somewhere deep within the walls.

At first, she thought it might be the house settling. It always did that—settled, creaked, groaned—but this... this was deliberate. Too consistent. Too slow, like the beat of a far-off drum. Julia paused, straining to listen. The tapping stopped, and she exhaled, reassured.

Then, it started again. Louder this time. Tap-tap-tap.

It wasn't the wind, nor was it some animal. She knew this house too well. This sound was... intentional. There was no mistaking it.

Across the room, Max sat at his computer, headphones on, oblivious to the growing tension in the room. He didn't hear it. Or if he did, he wasn't acknowledging it. Julia glanced back at him, but his eyes never left the screen. His world was a million miles away from hers. A world of pixels, noise, and competition.

She felt the blood drain from her face as the sound grew louder still, almost pulling her toward it. Her heart skipped. Tap-tap-tap. The rhythm was maddening, like an invisible hand knocking from inside the walls.

Her gaze shot toward the attic door at the far end of the hallway. The sound seemed to be coming from there, from somewhere high above her, just beyond the ceiling. A chill crawled up her spine. No, not the attic, she thought. It's just the wind playing tricks on me.

Her mind raced with reason. It's probably just a raccoon or something, she reasoned, trying to dismiss the panic creeping up her throat. But deep down, something told her that whatever was up there, it wasn't natural. It wasn't normal.

Max continued typing away, his face illuminated by the cold blue glow of his screen. He hadn't heard it. He wasn't even pretending to care. But Julia couldn't stand it. She had to know what it was.

With trembling hands, she stood up, her feet cold against the hardwood floor. She grabbed the flashlight from her desk drawer, a chill running through her as her fingers brushed the cold metal. Her heart hammered in her chest as she clicked it on, casting a beam of light into the shadows.

The tapping stopped.

She froze. The sudden stillness in the house was oppressive. It felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something. Julia's eyes darted around the darkened room. But there was nothing there. Nothing except the stillness.

Then, just as quickly as it had stopped, a voice—so soft it was almost a whisper. "Help me."

It wasn't in her head. Julia could hear it. Clear as day. The voice was real.

Her breath caught in her throat. She turned to look at Max, who was still absorbed in his game, but he didn't seem to notice the eerie silence hanging in the room. The voice had come from somewhere else, somewhere deeper in the house. Somewhere close.

Her pulse quickened. She turned toward the attic stairs. The old wooden ladder creaked as she pulled it down, the sound far too loud in the thick silence. The attic. That's where the noise was coming from. Julia could feel her heart slamming against her ribs. What was she doing?

Max didn't move. He was still glued to his screen. Unaware. Or maybe he didn't care.

Taking a deep breath, Julia grabbed the flashlight, her hands trembling more now than before. She climbed the ladder, each step creaking beneath her weight, the air growing colder the higher she went. The attic door was half open, a sliver of darkness beyond. Julia pushed it open fully, stepping into the thick, musty air.

The temperature up there was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the house. It was freezing, the cold gnawing at her skin. Dust particles floated in the beam of her flashlight, and the thick air tasted stale. She scanned the room, her flashlight beam trembling in her grip. The attic was a mess—cluttered with old furniture, forgotten boxes, and piles of stuff that had been abandoned long ago.

Tap-tap-tap.

It was closer now. So much closer. The sound seemed to be coming from right above her, as if something—or someone—was standing just out of sight. But there was nothing above her. Not a second floor—just the attic. The house wasn't built like that.

Julia's heart raced. Her thoughts swirled. What could make that sound?

The flashlight flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist in the corners. She felt as if the room itself were alive, the shadows watching her every move. The tapping didn't stop. It was insistent, relentless.

Julia's breath quickened. She moved toward the far corner of the attic, where old crates were stacked high. There was something about that corner that felt wrong. Unsettling. The air seemed thicker there. As she approached the crates, the tapping stopped.

For a moment, the silence was suffocating. The only sound was her own breath, shallow and quick. She stood there, frozen, unable to move.

Then the voice came again, louder this time, more desperate. "Help me..."

Julia's blood ran cold. She swung the flashlight around, but the attic was empty. There was no one there. No one except the old crates, covered in heavy blankets. And yet, the voice was as clear as anything. It came from inside the walls, from the shadows themselves.

Her eyes shot back to the crates. The largest one had a crack in the wood, as though it had been opened recently. With shaking hands, Julia stepped forward. She reached out to touch the wood. It was cold—unnaturally cold—and damp, as if it had been exposed to something far worse than just time.

The whispering grew louder again. "You have to help me... now."

Julia's pulse thundered in her ears as she tried to steady her hands. Her mind screamed at her to leave, to run as fast as she could. But something—someone—was waiting for her to open this crate. She slid the lid open, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

What she saw inside made her heart stop.

There was nothing. Nothing except a yellowed piece of paper. It was folded in half, its edges frayed with age, its surface covered with strange symbols—symbols she didn't recognize. Symbols that pulsed with an eerie, almost sentient energy, as though the paper itself were alive.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, the sensation of wrongness growing with every second. The moment her fingers brushed the paper, the whispering stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, the footsteps came. Slow. Heavy. Drawing nearer.

Julia spun around, flashlight aimed at the source of the sound, but the room was empty. No one was there. And yet, the footsteps continued, growing closer with every passing moment.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't alone. Not anymore.

Her legs felt like lead, and her mind screamed at her to run. But her feet refused to move. She was paralyzed, her body frozen in place. The footsteps grew louder, as if someone—or something—was moving behind her.

Then, as if in answer to her terror, a voice—whispering, almost too soft to hear—came again. "You're not alone..."

Julia's heart slammed into her chest. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand there. She had to leave. But as she took a step back, her foot hit something small. Something hard.

She turned her head. A small wooden box lay on the floor, its lid cracked open. She hadn't noticed it before. She bent down, her hands trembling, and lifted the box. Inside, there was a single object—a key. Tarnished, worn, with an intricate symbol carved into its handle. The same symbol from the paper.

Julia's breath hitched. The key felt heavy in her hand. The weight of it wasn't just physical—it felt like it carried something far more sinister, like it was linked to something dark and powerful.

What did it mean?

And why did it feel like she had just unlocked something she could never close again?