One night, after a particularly exhausting day, Emily was about to crawl into bed when she heard it—an odd, faint noise. It was a soft, scraping sound, like something gently brushing against wood. Her body froze, and her heart skipped a beat. Was someone—or something—inside the house?
She stood there, feeling like time had stopped, her eyes darting toward the hallway, waiting for a shadow to appear. When nothing happened, she forced a nervous chuckle. “It’s probably just the wind,” she reassured herself. “Or those old pipes creaking again.”
But as she finally settled into bed, the noise returned—a steady, almost rhythmic scraping. It was faint, barely audible, but enough to stir her imagination. “No more horror movies before bed,” she muttered, pulling the blanket over her head.