Beneath the Boards

When Amanda first stepped foot in the house her uncle left her, she was thrilled. Who wouldn't want their own place, complete with the kind of historical charm that only an old Victorian could offer? Her plan was simple—restore it, live in it for a bit, and then... well, see where life took her. But things were never that simple, were they? "Oh, it's a fixer-upper all right," she would chuckle nervously to herself, admiring the gnarled, creaky staircase. The charm wore off as soon as night fell. The air inside felt different in the dark—like it was inhaling itself, waiting to exhale in some unwelcome surprise. The first night she heard the whispers, she brushed it off. Late-night sounds in an old house? Made sense. But those whispers—they seemed to form words, almost like an old recording that couldn't be quite deciphered. Her nights became a muddled mix of exhaustion and adrenaline, yearning for sleep but too unnerved to find it. One evening, she placed her phone on record as she went to bed. For as long as she stayed in this dusty relic, perhaps an audio log or two would help maintain her sanity. That morning, Amanda replayed the recording over her first cup of coffee. Halfway through, her heart stopped— "Come play... in the wall." She tried to shake it off, attributing it to shoddy acoustics or a trick of the mind. But it wasn't just that. Why did the walls feel so damned close? Her cleaning efforts uncovered more than faded wallpapers. Above the fireplace was a sentence barely visible against the brick—a message long erased by time's merciless hands: "Stay to be free." Needing answers, Amanda dug through online forums about the house, discovering its sordid history: children from decades ago disappearing within its walls, cryptic tales that were written off as urban legend. "Coincidence," Amanda muttered, despite the chills threading down her spine. But the house wouldn't let up. That week, she distinctly heard her name, reverberating between the floorboards. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she pounded on the wall in the hallway, desperation in every strike. And it... gave way. Within that hidden space, light danced erratically, painting shadows against ghastly shapes that should've only existed in nightmares—creatures with human features stretched and twisted. Reality fractured. Her breath quickened, she felt drawn inside, towards the dark echoes of past horrors, as if her movements weren't her own. And just as suddenly, she was back in reality. Why hadn't the house swallowed her whole yet? She had to leave. "Do you think you're just gonna walk out?" a voice—no, several voices—collectively echoed as she packed her bags in a frenzy. But Amanda was determined. And that determination led her to discover a long-overgrown entrance hidden beneath the floorboards where the scent of decay lingered. Summoning every iota of courage, she lifted the trapdoor, revealing an ancient, spiraling stair into abyssal darkness. Crumpled notations surrounded the entrance, too faded to grasp. Yet, something whispered from below, thrumming against her will—an unspeakable energy that dared her descent. And, succumbing once more to a compulsion beyond comprehension, she descended. As she reached the bottom, Amanda was engulfed in the cold emptiness—a void grasping her senses. Yet, in the silence, she found a startling clarity. It wasn't the house; it was her. Internment and awareness intertwined, freed from the narratives trapping both spirit and flesh. Her mind exploded with revelations as her consciousness stretched into the ether, echoing with all the whispers before her. She was part of the house now. Back in the upstairs recesses, silence fell as darkness wrapped itself around Amanda’s legacy—a new story woven into the heart of the enigmatic abode.