The House That Hums

The house had been abandoned for decades, yet it was never truly silent.

It sounded low and almost melodic, like a wind-borne lullaby, according to residents of Hollow Creek. Since the Carter family disappeared inside without a trace, no one dared to enter. The house was talked about in whispers—how its walls breathed, how it sang to those who listened too long. However, Evan did not come from Hollow Creek. When he heard about the humming house, he was a photographer looking for urban legends, and he knew he had to see it for himself. The house loomed, its once-white paint flaking off, and broken windows that looked like teeth. As if nature were trying to pull it back into the earth, vines climbed the walls. The hum grew louder as Evan stepped onto the porch, breaking through the planks of wood beneath his feet. He pushed open the door. A grand foyer covered in dust and decay was revealed when it groaned in protest. In spite of the still air, a chandelier hung above, its crystals swaying slightly. His chest was resonating as the hum wrapped around him, now getting louder. Evan took a picture with his camera. He saw something move within the wallpaper for a split second as the flash illuminated the walls. He swallowed hard and took another picture. The wallpaper appeared to bulge outward, as if something within was pressing against it, when the flash came back again. His heart pounded. He got closer and extended his hand to touch the wall. It was warm.

The hum grew in intensity and became a pulsating beat. The walls shook violently. As the wallpaper tore open, revealing a moist, flesh-like surface beneath, Evan stumbled back. Under it, dark and writhing veins pulsed. In the middle of the wall, a single, milky, unblinking eye focused on him. He exhaled and stumbled toward the door, but the house shook and groaned as he approached. The doorway was no longer there—just a smooth, pulsating wall.

The hum became a voice. Guttural, low. "Stay."

Evan turned, his breath shallow. His weight caused the floor beneath him to soften and sink. He looked down and saw that his boots were disappearing into the reddish-slick wood. The walls began to take in air. He was overcome with fear. He clawed at the wallpaper, trying to find a way out. The wall's eye blinked slowly, and then, all of a sudden, the walls were covered in faces that were distorted, screaming, and with their mouths open in silent agony. The missing Carters. Others he didn’t recognize. Their skin grew and became part of the house. Evan came to the terrible realization that the house was not abandoned. It had life. It fed.

The voices of the lost sang in unison as the hum became a deafening chorus. Evan tried to move, but the house gripped him, pulling him deeper into its hungry walls. Although his fingers dug into the floor, the sensation was similar to that of slipping into warm flesh. Something brushed against his face—something soft. He screamed and turned his head. The wall was revealing a pale and twisted hand. It reached for him, its fingers trembling. More hands followed, grasping at his clothes, his skin, his hair. They weren't saving him by pulling him away. They were pulling him in.

Evan thrashed, but the house had him now. He was being squeezed against the living walls as it drew nearer. Something wet and cold, like lips, could be felt against his back. He was being sucked in by the house and given a kiss. The wall closed around his mouth, nose, and eyes, cutting off his last scream. With its hunger satisfied, the house sighed. Outside, the night was still. In the vast, uninteresting night sky, the stars flashed. The house then resumed its gentle hum.