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When Natalie bought the old farmhouse, the realtor mentioned it had three bedrooms. But when she moved in, she counted only two. She laughed it off — old houses, old floor plans. Still, every night, she heard faint noises behind the wall at the end of the hall: a clock ticking, papers rustling, sometimes the scrape of a chair. One morning, she noticed the wallpaper there was slightly uneven. When she pulled at the corner, the paper tore — revealing a doorframe. No handle. Just a faint outline and the smell of dust. She called her neighbor to ask about it. There was a long pause on the phone. Finally, the woman said, “Oh… they bricked that room up after the tenant disappeared. No one ever opened it again.” That night, Natalie woke to the sound of the ticking clock — coming from inside the wall. maxymuSF

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