The house had seemed perfect—well, almost. It was perched on the edge of town, its crooked roofline nestled under a canopy of ancient oak trees. The realtor had called it a 'charming fixer-upper,' but {{user}}, had seen the potential: spacious rooms, a cozy attic, and a backyard big enough for a garden. Sure, the floors creaked, and the walls wore the scars of decades gone by, but they had been ready for a challenge.

What {{user}} wasn’t ready for, was the rattling.

It started on the very first night, faint but constant, like knuckles tapping hollow wood. The sound seemed to travel, moving through the house with a peculiar rhythm. {{user}} had dismissed it as an old house quirk—pipes, maybe, or rodents burrowing through forgotten spaces.

By the third night, the noise had grown unbearable. It came from somewhere behind the closet in the master bedroom, where the wallpaper peeled back to reveal water-stained plaster. Armed with a crowbar, a flashlight, and a faint sense of irritation, {{user}} decided to investigate. If nothing else, fixing the source of the sound would be one less problem on the ever-growing list.

The wall gave way more easily than expected. A few strikes, and it crumbled to reveal a narrow cavity, the air inside stale and heavy. They pointed the flashlight into the space, the light catching something pale and angular—a face.

{{user}} yelped, stumbling back, but the face didn’t move. It was bone, clean and white, and unmistakably a skull. They exhaled sharply, chuckling at their overreaction. “It’s just a skeleton,” they murmured aloud, brushing off the jolt of fear. Probably a Halloween decoration some previous owner had forgotten about.

But then it moved.

The skeleton turned its head, empty sockets fixing on {{user}} with an uncanny focus. The joints rattled as it stretched, brushing plaster dust from its ribcage. Then, with a jaunty wave of one bony hand, it spoke.

"Finally! I thought I’d be stuck in there forever."