September 14th, 2019 (8:10 p.m.)

     I think there is someone in my house. It started two days ago, a light scratching in the walls and a subtle patter in the attic, sounds which I quickly and logically attributed to an animal that must have made its way into the house. I have had many animals find refuge in my house in the past, especially during this time of year when it really begins to develop a harsh chill in the air. I know what a rat sounds like when it scurries between the drywall and wood paneling, what a raccoon sounds like when it makes a nest in my attic, and what a squirrel sounds like when it scales the outside of my house trying to find some warm crevice it can huddle down in. Therefore, at first, I wasn't thrown off by the elusive creaks in my floorboards, the patter in my walls, the squeaks in the attic, or the whistling in the wind that seemed to blow against the house just a little harsher. Although, after a few days of these sounds continuing, I then started to pay more attention to them. I realized that the creaks in the floorboard didn't sound like the results of an old shifting house, the patter in the walls sounded more heavy and determined than a rat aimlessly slithering through them, the squeaks in the attic sounded more like a shuffle that paced the entire attic in carefully practiced circles, and the whistling in the wind started to sound more like a howl. The air started to get heavier with my paranoia, but I ignored it for those two long days; doing my best to block out the sounds coming from all around me, surrounding me in my own home. But I am not able to ignore it any longer, the creeks are getting too loud, the scratching is getting more desperate, the pacing is getting more frantic, and now there is a new addition; the walls have started whispering.

September 16th, 2019 (7:05 p.m.)

     Today, after I heard the distinct shuffling in my attic, I gathered the courage I had previously abandoned for the last several days and went up to search for whoever it was in my house. I brought the bat that I have kept next to my bed ever since the sounds increased with me as I pulled down and climbed the unstable ladder and held my bat ready when I got to the top. I don't know if I was hoping I would see someone when I peaked my head through the hatch, but when I didn't see anyone pacing the creaking floorboards, I filled with even more dread. I was terrified to see the person hiding in my house, but it was almost even worse not seeing them because I know that they are still there.

September 17th, 2019 (8:45 p.m.)

     The sounds have only kept getting louder. They are more frequent and obvious, they are not trying to hide between the sounds of my steps or the sound of me dropping a pan, and they are not afraid anymore. They are becoming clearer, almost like they are wanting me to hear them, wanting me to be aware of them, and always letting me know that they are here.

     I have started lying awake at night, not wanting to sleep in fear that I may miss one of the sounds that echo all throughout this old house or one of the whispers that I can never seem to make out behind the walls. I also fear the eyes that I can feel watching me when I sleep. I can feel them on me at all times, but they are especially vibrant in the dark crack that runs along the left side of my wall at night.

September 18th, 2019  (10:20 a.m.)

    The person in my house has started coming out of the walls, floorboards, and attic, or wherever it is that they are hiding. When I got up this morning after getting a rare few hours of sleep, I walked into the kitchen, but as I did, I noticed one of my dining room chairs missing. On the ground where the chair was supposed to sit, there are scrapes from the chair being dragged along the hardwood floor. I followed the scrapes up to the far corner of the dining room; there the chair now sits, in the corner to the right of the entryway and directly across from the kitchen, facing away from the corner and looking out towards the room. The chair was empty, but I still felt as if the person in my house was sitting in it, simply waiting for me to notice them. They are getting more daring.

September 19th, 2019 (11:20 a.m.)

    The chair has moved again. I know I put it back in its rightful place, tucked against the dining table yesterday, but when I came out this morning it was sat in the same corner in the same way once again. I quickly pushed it back to the table, almost afraid that if I left it there it would be an unspoken invitation for the person in my house to sit, which I do not want. I do not want the person in my house to feel welcomed here, I want them out.

September 20th, 2019 (9:50 p.m.)

    The chair had been moved again last night and just like the past two mornings, I hastily moved it back. I wasn't as surprised this morning when I saw it propped against the corner, but it still unsettled me the same, it scares me that the person in my house is getting more confident.

    Later in the day, when I was sitting in the one and only chair that I use, ignoring all the other furniture around me whose only use was to collect dust, I heard the whispering again. This time it was clearer, I could tell that they were whispering words, but they were too muffled to decipher. The whispers called out to me, and my need to hear what they were saying grew. I set my book to the side and sat up straighter in my chair, turning my head to listen to the whispers in the crevices of the wall across from me. I stood from the chair and walked toward the wall, focusing on the sound and trying to make it out, it seemed important. I tenderly laid my ear against the wall where the whispers originated from, desperate to hear them, but as soon as I did they abruptly stopped. I haven't picked up my book since then, I only sat back in my chair, staring at the wall and waiting for it to whisper again.

September 21st, 2019 (7:15 p.m.)

     In the past few days, I have started to form habits. Every night I lie awake staring along the crack in my wall watching and waiting for the eyes that I know are there to blink, every morning I push the chair back into its spot while silently cursing this game the person in my house seems to be playing with me, and every time I hear the pacing in my attic I grab my bat and go up intent to catch them in the act. Every day I almost secretly hope that one night I will see the eyes clearly staring back at me from behind the wall, see them sitting in the chair late at night when I get up as I swear I hear the scrape of the chair being dragged across the floor, or to see the person staring back at me in the attic hatch as they pace circles around me, but every time my stomach drops when no one is there.

September 23rd, 2019 (8:35 p.m.)

    I have stopped sleeping altogether now. I am too restless to sleep knowing that there are eyes watching me from the crack in my wall, that when I close my eyes the person in my house has free rein over the house, or that I may miss one of the creaks, scratches, or whispers. My days have been filled with this same restlessness as well. I rarely eat, I don't read, and I don't turn music or the radio on in an attempt to fill the previously silent house as I did constantly before. Now, I only sit in my chair, listening for every little sound, whipping my head in the direction that it came from every time, staring at the wall waiting for it to whisper back to me, to finally reply with something legible.

    I have searched the entire house over and over to find this other person living here with me, but I never find them. The only physical evidence they leave behind is the chair sitting in the corner, which I have stopped moving back to the table, instead letting it sit where the person in my house insists it belongs. It was too much effort to move it back every morning.

    I feel like I am trapped in my own house. I feel so vulnerable and exposed here, helpless that I can not find the person in my house that is tormenting me, but I also can not leave. This house is the only thing I have left of them and I can not abandon it. Even as the couch remains unused and bare, I still fluff the cushions, because this is our house and I will not let the other person infecting it take it away from me.

September 24th, 2019 (8:20 p.m.)

    I have started screaming back at the whispering in the walls. When I sit in my chair and they speak louder each day from their spot behind the wall I yell at them to get out, to crawl out from wherever they are hiding and leave me alone. They never respond, but the scratching, pacing, creaking, and whispering only get louder, it feels almost deafening now.

    My neighbor came by today, she came to my door to check in claiming she was worried about me since she noticed I have not left the house in a while. So I told her why I have not left the house, how I can not let the other person here be alone, how I need to catch them when they crawl out from under the floorboards, squeeze out of the walls, or finally descend from the attic, I need to get them out. She walked away in a rush after I explained this, I don't think she believed me. Although I know that if she stayed to listen to the sounds of this person wandering my house she would have also understood why I need this person out so badly.

September 26th, 2019 (4:50 p.m.)

    Two other people, both from further down the street, came to my door today. They both asked how I have been but they seemed skeptical. They said they were worried about me but I told them that there is nothing to worry about, I just need to take care of this person in my house. Then, as I was talking to them from my doorway, I suddenly quickly turned my head to the side when I heard the whispering in the wall again. I frantically ushered the both of them inside and pushed them closer to the wall while holding my finger to my lips, gesturing for them to be quiet. I quietly asked if they hear the whispering, almost giddily, wondering if they may be able to make out what the person in the wall is saying, I am curious to know. The two of them exchanged worried glances, but they said that they didn't hear anything. How could they have not heard it? It was practically shouting. The two of them then hastily make their way out the door very quickly leaving me alone with this other person in my house. I sit back in my chair to patiently wait once again, and I stayed there until I had to get up to get dinner, as I did I was always looking back towards the chair sitting in the corner.

September 28th, 2019 (6:10 p.m.)

    People keep coming by my house, but they don't come up to my door anymore, they simply stand out on the sidewalk in front of my house talking to each other and talking about me. I don't know if they know I can hear them, they are not necessarily talking quietly, but I am already listening very closely as I am waiting for the person in my house to make another noise. They think that I am insane, I can tell. They say I am going mental because of the grief. They say I am losing myself because I don't know how to deal with my husband and son's death that happened just a few weeks ago. But that is not true. I am not insane, I am not making this up and my husband and son have nothing to do with this. I may have only started to notice that there is someone else in the house because it has been much quieter with their absence, but I am sure that the person in my walls has been here for a long time.

September 30th, 2019 (5:05 a.m.)

    I saw them. I finally saw them. It was just for a moment, but I definitely saw them. I had gotten up from my chair, very late in the night, or very early in the morning, which one I could not pick, far before the sun rose to go to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee to attempt to keep me awake so I do not miss the sounds. I tiredly walked into the kitchen and started filling a pot, the whole time barely staying awake. However, even through my drowsiness, I could still notice that the eyes that are always watching me were much stronger than usual on the back of my neck. My breath caught in my throat as the eyes burned into my back, sprouting goosebumps in their wake. Suddenly all the confidence I had when screaming at them in my walls to show themself instantly disappeared, I was frozen and petrified to turn around. Although I knew I needed to. I quickly whipped myself around, eyes instantly landing on the chair sitting in the corner of the room directly across from me. In the chair sat a massive dark figure, not quite a person and not quite a creature, it was simply a thing. It was entirely a deep pitch-black color, all besides its bright yellow-tinted eyes. It barely fit in the chair, its legs up to its chest as it leaned over and forward slightly, and its long arms falling to the side. It wore a wide sharp toothy smile as it stared back directly at me, unmoving and completely still, not blinking and not even appearing to be breathing. It just stared at me as if it has already done this many times. Within a second I rush to turn on the light, praying I was misseeing the hulking figure in the corner. But the moment I flick the light on and instantly turn back to the corner, not wanting to take my eyes off of the thing sitting there for even a moment, it is gone. Within that half second that I looked away, it slithered back under the floorboards or between the cracks in the wall once again. I need this thing out of my house.

October 3rd, 2019 (7:40 p.m.)

    I have been searching for the thing even more feverishly than before. Desperately taunting it to come out again, because this time I will be prepared, I need to drive it out of my house. But the thing in my house only taunts me back. It pounds against the floorboards as it slithers through my house, it scratches massive gouges in the walls right next to my head, it stomps circles in my attic causing dust to fall from the ceiling and it practically shouts from the walls right beside me, it is toying with me. Every night I sit in the kitchen, not taking my eyes away from the chair in the corner, daring for it to take a seat again. It has not directly faced me again, but I see it out of the corner of my eye, hiding in the dark corners or lurking within my shadow, never a step far behind me. It is taunting me, taking control of the house that I built my life in, trying to prove I can not drive it out and that it lives here now, that it stole my home, but I plan to prove it wrong.

October 4th, 2019 (6:30 p.m.)

    I am not insane like the people outside of my house continue to insist on in whispered gossip to each other. The whispers are driving me mad, but I am not insane. I am far from insane, I saw it, I saw that it is here, I am simply determined. I am not insane. I need that thing out of here. I promise that I am not insane.

October 5th, 2019 (5:25 p.m.)

    I left the house for the first time in a while today. I went to the hardware store just down a few streets, not wanting to leave the thing in my house unattended for long, and bought a crowbar, a sledgehammer, and a hand saw. All the while, all the people I passed on the street and all the people that rushed out of my way in the hardware store whispered about me. They held their children closer and pulled them to their other side to get them away from me. They looked at me like I was insane, I am not insane. The old woman clutched their necklaces as I passed. The children pointed and stared. The group of teens pointed and laugh at me behind their hands. I heard them warn whoever was next to them to not ever let grief consume them like it had me and I scoffed at them. This is not grief, they know nothing of grief, this is determination. I even heard one man mutter a prayer as he passed me.

    I quickly made my way back home, ignoring the same whispers, laughs, and prayers from all around me as I went. When I got back home, I set the tools next to my chair and sat down, waiting for the next stomp, scratch, or screech. I would be ready this time, I am going to get this thing out of my house.

October 6th, 2019 (6:10 a.m.)

    The thing was very active last night. Every time I would hear a creak in the floorboards, I would rush to where the thing was slithering through the floor with my crowbar in hand and pry up the wood flooring, following it as it went and trying to find it so that I can grab it and pull it out. Every time I heard it shuffling through the walls and scratching from the inside, I would jump to my feet with my sledgehammer in hand, instantly swinging at the same spot where the wall bellowed out as it wedged itself behind the drywall. I pulled at the drywall trying to expose the thing and take hold of it, yanking it out of where it cowered behind the walls. Every time I heard it stomping in the attic I climbed atop my furniture with my saw to cut through the ceiling, hoping that the thing will fall through, exposing itself so that I can throw it out. Although, every time I do chase the sounds I find nothing. I tear open my house, searching through all the corners, no matter how small, and sifting through every pile of sawdust and drywall for the thing, but it evades me every time. Every time I just miss it I go back to my chair to sit and wait for the next time it makes an appearance. I am even struggling to find time to write these entries. I have to keep pausing when a new sound sprouts, instantly dropping this journal and rushing to find the thing before it slips away again. The sounds are so frequent now that I am barely even able to get in a few sentences before I have to drop my pen and replace it with the crowbar.

October 8th, 2019 (7:55 p.m.)

    I can't catch it. It keeps slipping away. The walls are practically completely open now, nearly all of the drywall torn away, so I can see the shadow of the thing through the gaps in the wall, through the craters and holes in the flooring, through the openings in the ceiling, but it is always too fast, just out of my reach. I need to catch it. I need it out of my house.

October 9th, 2019 (10:40 a.m.)

    This is my house, I need it out. I begged for it to leave but it just laughed at me. I cried for it to go away but it told me that it liked it here, that my walls are warm, my floor is soft, my attic is soothing, and my presence is welcoming. It will not leave and I can not catch the dark figure that I see peeking through the holes in my house, it still has places to hide behind.

October 9th, 2019 (9:45 p.m.)

    I think I found a way to get the thing out of hiding, how to get it out of my house. I need to give it no more places that it can hide and cower behind. Then I can shift through the ashes to find it and pull it out. This is my house and I am going to get the thing living in it with me out.

The young boy closes the journal that he found buried in the ashes of Edith's house. It is one of the few things that survived the fire that Edith started with several gallons of gasoline and a single match. Barely anything left of the house stands, it all mostly sits in a pile of ash, and among those ashes is Edith's body, her body even less recognizable than she had been for the several weeks prior.

    Everyone in town knew that Edith had gone mad, the grief of losing her husband and son in the car crash was too much, but when everyone on the street woke up one night to her entire house up in flames, they were all shocked and silent. For days after, police swarmed the area where her house used to stand, but all the police and all the people already knew what happened; Edith had gone insane with grief.

    Weeks later, the ashes still sat untouched, most left the ashes alone, not wanting to go anywhere near them. Although, there were a few brave and curious souls, the young boy included, who shifted through the ashes. The first thing he found was the journal. He carefully read through it, watching the woman's madness evolve as the days passed. However, when he left the pile of ashes, he unknowingly brought another thing home with him, one of the few other things that survived the fire. 

     The hulking dark figure saw the boy digging through the ashes, and as he left with the mad woman's journal, It followed the boy, hiding in his shadow until he got to his home. Here, the thing then once again crawled into the warm and welcoming walls, whispering as it went, slithering through the floorboards, causing them to creak, and pacing the attic in carefully practiced circles.