**Chapter 10: The One in the Walls**
380 Words
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### Evelyn raced upstairs.
Every step felt heavier, like the house itself was trying to hold her back. Lila's scream still echoed through the halls, bouncing off the wallpaper like a curse.
“Lila!” she shouted, bursting into the living room.
The couch was empty.
The blanket lay crumpled on the floor.
And the lights were **off**.
All of them.
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Evelyn grabbed the flashlight and scanned the room, her hands trembling. The beam shook over walls, furniture… then stopped.
There, written across the wall in red crayon, were three words:
> **“SHE BELONGS NOW.”**
Her knees buckled.
“No. No, no, no…”
She turned toward the stairs.
And froze.
A sound.
**Knocking.**
From behind the walls.
Soft.
Rhythmic.
Knock… knock… knock…
> *Mommy…*
The voice came from inside the wall.
> *I’m stuck… inside…*
“Lila?!”
Evelyn dropped to her knees, pressing her ear to the paneling.
> “Baby, I’m here. I’m going to get you out!”
The knocking grew louder.
Faster.
The voice shifted.
Twisted.
It didn’t sound like Lila anymore.
> *She’s part of me now.*
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Evelyn jumped back.
Then it hit her.
Rosie wasn’t the only ghost here.
There was **something else**.
Something older.
Something that had been in the house long before Rosie ever died.
She ran to the kitchen drawer and grabbed a hammer, returning to the wall. With one desperate swing, she cracked the plaster.
Again. And again.
Wood splintered. Dust filled the air.
And then — an empty cavity.
No pipes. No wires.
Just **a dark tunnel.**
Too small for an adult.
But perfect for a child.
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Evelyn dropped the hammer and shoved her arm inside.
“Lila!” she called. “Take my hand!”
Silence.
Then — fingers.
Cold. Thin. Wrapping around hers.
She pulled.
Hard.
And out came her daughter — coughing, covered in dust, eyes wide with fear.
Evelyn hugged her tight, sobbing.
But Lila didn’t hug her back.
She whispered:
> “That’s not where I was hiding, Mommy…”
Evelyn slowly looked down.
And realized — she wasn’t holding Lila.
Not really.
The thing in her arms **smiled** with someone else’s face.
And whispered:
> “You should’ve left this house.”
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- Writer
