The Sound Behind the Walls

Some noises are not meant to be ignored

Hamza had always been a light sleeper, but the apartment he moved into seemed unusually quiet—or at least, he thought it was. On the first night, as he unpacked boxes and set up his workspace, he noticed faint scratching sounds behind one of the bedroom walls. He assumed it was a mouse or some building settling. Yet the sound persisted, subtle at first, almost rhythmic, like tiny claws tapping on plaster.

Over the next few days, the scratching grew louder, more deliberate. It didn’t seem random. Sometimes it paused when he entered the room, only to resume when he stepped away. Hamza tried ignoring it, focusing on work, but a growing unease settled in his chest. Late at night, the scratching would shift, moving along the wall as if circling the room, always just out of sight. He checked behind furniture, pressed his ear to the walls, but nothing was visible.

One evening, the scratching changed. It became tapping, soft at first, then deliberate, as though someone—or something—was trying to communicate. Hamza held his breath, listening. The tapping repeated in patterns, almost like a code. He tried to leave the apartment, but the front door seemed heavier than usual, the lock resisting. Anxiety surged as he realized he felt trapped, small and powerless in the space that should have been his refuge.

The nights worsened. Whispers began accompanying the sounds, faint at first, nearly inaudible. Hamza could not understand the words, but the tone was unmistakably malevolent, a hissing, mocking voice that made his skin crawl. Sleep became impossible. He covered his head with a pillow, but the sounds penetrated, vibrating through the walls and floor. Even the air seemed alive with pressure, pressing against him like invisible hands.

One night, desperate, Hamza removed a section of drywall, trying to discover the source. What he found made his stomach churn. Inside the wall cavity, the space extended far deeper than the building’s dimensions should allow. Shadows moved within, shifting unnaturally, and faint, distorted faces pressed against the wood from the darkness, staring at him. The scratching and tapping came from there—something alive, trapped within the walls, and somehow aware of him.

Hamza panicked and stepped back, nearly falling. The shadows pressed closer to the opening, and a cold, fetid air rushed out, carrying whispers that now formed words: “You cannot leave… we are here… with you…” The walls themselves seemed to pulse, the apartment twisting in impossible ways. Furniture shifted subtly, doors closed silently behind him, and the room seemed to expand and contract like lungs.

By dawn, Hamza was pale, trembling, unable to sleep or leave the apartment. Neighbors occasionally heard him screaming, but when they checked, he was gone—his apartment appeared normal, the wall sealed, no evidence of tampering. Only the faint scratching and tapping remained, echoing from within, patient, waiting for the next tenant.

The building had been alive, feeding on curiosity and fear, and Hamza had learned too late that some sounds are never random. Some noises exist to lure you closer, to trap you, to make you part of the walls forever.

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By dawn, Hamza was pale, trembling, unable to sleep or leave the apartment. Neighbors occasionally heard him screaming, but when they checked, he was gone—his apartment appeared normal, the wall sealed, no evidence of tampering. Only the faint scratching and tapping remained, echoing from within, patient, waiting for the next tenant.

The building had been alive, feeding on curiosity and fear, and Hamza had learned too late that some sounds are never random. Some noises exist to lure you closer, to trap you, to make you part of the walls forever.