Until the package arrived.
The Photograph
No return address.
A photograph.
Black and white. Grainy.
Emily’s breath caught in her throat.
It was her.
Asleep on her cot in the storage unit.
Taken from behind the wall.
On the back, in smeared black crayon, were five chilling words:
“He’s not behind the wall anymore.”
The official report called it a case of “severe stress-induced paranoia.”
But when the new tenant of Emily’s old unit moved in three months later, he complained to Marie about something strange.
He said at night, he kept hearing faint sounds.
Knock. Knock.
Always from beneath the floor.