The old house groaned, a symphony of settling wood and rattling panes. Rain lashed against the windows, each gust a frantic hand clawing at the glass. I’d inherited it from a great-aunt I’d never met, a woman whispered about in hushed tones as “odd.” Now, alone in the flickering candlelight, I understood why.

Every room felt wrong, the air thick and heavy with a sense of watching. The wallpaper, a faded pattern of grotesque cherubs, seemed to writhe in the shadows. Upstairs, a nursery was frozen in time: a rocking horse with eyes that followed you, a mobile of skeletal birds, a small crib draped in black lace. I didn’t belong here, my gut screamed, but a morbid curiosity kept me rooted.

Then, the scratching started.

It was faint at first, a subtle tick-tick-tick from the walls. Like tiny claws scraping against wood. I tried to rationalize it - mice, old pipes, the house just settling. But the scratching grew louder, closer, shifting around me like something was circling. It moved from the walls to the ceiling, then down to the floorboards, the sound of something digging, searching.

I held my breath, straining to hear over the wind and the relentless scratching. The candlelight danced, throwing grotesque shadows that distorted familiar shapes into monstrous forms. Then, it stopped. The house fell silent, the only sound my own frantic heartbeat.

A moment later, a soft sigh came from just behind me. A wet, raspy sound, like air escaping a punctured lung. I turned, heart hammering against my ribs, but there was nothing there. Just the oppressive silence, and the lingering scent of something rotten, something…wrong.

The scratching started again, this time from directly beneath my feet. I could feel the vibrations through the floorboards. It was closer now, much closer. And this time, it wasn't just claws. Now, it sounded like teeth gnawing. The floorboards creaked and buckled slightly, and in the sudden silence, I could hear a low, guttural chuckle coming from below.