Every night at 2:37 a.m., Emma woke up to the same sound — a faint dragging noise beneath the floorboards.
It was slow, wet, and rhythmic, like someone was pulling something heavy through mud.
At first, she thought it was the old pipes in the farmhouse.
Then one night, she realized it wasn’t coming from the pipes.
It was coming from directly beneath her bed.
When she pressed her ear to the wooden floor, she could hear it clearly:
drag… scrape… drag… scrape…
And sometimes, between the sounds — a low, muffled breath.
She told her neighbor, an old man who’d lived in the area forever.
He looked at her with tired eyes and said,
“They never fixed the foundation after the accident. Best not to listen too close.”
“What accident?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He just walked away.
That night, Emma stayed up with a flashlight and a hammer.
When the sound began again, she pried up one of the floorboards.
A wave of rot and cold air hit her face.
She aimed her light into the dark gap below—
and saw an eye staring back at her.
She dropped the flashlight, and it rolled across the floor, illuminating what lay beneath:
A pale face pressed against the underside of the floorboards, mouth moving soundlessly.
Then, she realized — it wasn’t dragging something.
It was trying to pull itself upward.
Emma screamed and fled the room.
When she came back the next morning, the floorboard was back in place.
The wood looked untouched — except for one thing.
A finger, gray and cold, was sticking out between the boards.
Pointing directly at her bed.
stake I’d : Kunalsingh009
