The shadow beneath the floorboards

The Shadows Beneath the Floorboards

The air was thick with the scent of old wood and dust as Rebecca stepped into the abandoned farmhouse. The distant groan of wind through the cracked windows seemed to whisper warnings she ignored. Her flashlight cut through the dimness, casting long, eerie shadows on the warped walls.

Rebecca had inherited the farmhouse from her late aunt—a woman she barely knew but whose will left the property explicitly to her. No one else wanted it. The locals spoke of strange occurrences, whispered stories of screams at night, and things disappearing. But Rebecca was practical, determined to restore the house and sell it.

Her first night in the house passed uneventfully, though she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The faint scurrying of rats beneath the floorboards occasionally broke the silence, but it was nothing she hadn’t expected. She fell asleep to the creak of the old beams settling in the wind.

The second night was different. Rebecca awoke to a faint tapping sound, like fingers drumming against the wood. Sitting up in bed, she held her breath, straining to hear. The sound was coming from the floor beneath her.

She got out of bed, grabbing her flashlight. The tapping stopped as soon as her feet touched the cold, wooden floor. Heart pounding, she crouched and pressed her ear to the boards. Silence.

Shrugging it off, she returned to bed, though her sleep was restless and filled with strange dreams of faceless figures standing in a darkened room.

On the third night, Rebecca decided to investigate. The tapping had returned, louder now, and more insistent. It seemed to move, traveling beneath her feet as she followed it through the house. The noise led her to the living room, where a heavy, moth-eaten rug lay sprawled across the floor.

Her hands trembled as she peeled back the rug. Beneath it, the floorboards were scarred with deep scratches, like claw marks. In the center was a small trapdoor, secured with a rusted iron latch.

Rebecca hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to leave it alone, but curiosity outweighed caution. She pried open the latch, and the trapdoor creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

The air grew colder as Rebecca descended, flashlight trembling in her hand. The stairs led to a small, dirt-floored cellar. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars of murky, unidentifiable contents. At the center of the room was an old wooden table, and on it lay an open book, its pages covered in strange, spidery writing.

Rebecca felt a chill race down her spine. The words on the page seemed to shift under her gaze, forming phrases she couldn’t quite understand. She reached out to touch the book, but as her fingers brushed the brittle paper, a low, guttural growl rumbled from the shadows.

The flashlight beam swept across the room, landing on a corner where the dirt seemed to shift and rise. A figure began to emerge—a gaunt, pale form with hollow eyes that glinted like shards of glass. Its mouth stretched unnaturally wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

Rebecca stumbled backward, her flashlight clattering to the floor. Darkness swallowed her as the creature lurched toward her, its movements unnervingly fast and animalistic.

Rebecca’s screams echoed through the farmhouse, cutting off abruptly. When the locals arrived the next morning, drawn by the strange, guttural howls that had punctuated the night, they found the trapdoor wide open.

The cellar was empty, save for the overturned book and claw marks leading up the stairs. Rebecca was never seen again.

And yet, every night, those who pass by the old farmhouse swear they can hear tapping from beneath the floorboards, growing louder as they approach.