The officer on duty gave her that polite, practiced nod reserved for people they don’t quite believe.
Still, they agreed to check.
Empty.
Dust-covered floors. Cobwebs. No sign of life.
No trash. No bedding. No hole in the wall.
Emily’s mouth went dry.
“But it was right here,” she whispered.
The officer just sighed. “Sometimes stress does strange things to the mind.”
She didn’t argue. She just nodded, gathered her few belongings, and left the facility for good.
The Return
Weeks passed.
Emily moved into a women’s shelter, found part-time work, and tried to rebuild her life.
Some nights, she’d wake in her new room, heart pounding, convinced she’d heard it again — that slow, hollow knock.
Sometimes she heard whispers, too.
Always the same words:
“He sleeps behind the wall.”
She told herself it was trauma. A stress hallucination. She’d been exhausted, malnourished, terrified — the mind does strange things in the dark.
Continue reading…
