The House That Moves at Night

Walter's eyes suddenly shot open from the barely audible sound of a floorboard creak down the hallway from the bedroom. Abruptly Walter sat up in bed and glanced around the inky black room. He reached, feeling for his cellphone on the bedside table and fumbled to check the time. 2:56am.

The glow of his phone encircled him making his face sickly blue. He used the phone's flashlight to look around, trying to identify what woke him up, again.

He cursed himself for even booking this rental cabin but as a lifelong city boy the idea of a weekend retreat in the middle of the wildness seemed refreshing. As this was his third or fourth time waking up, he regretted this decision.

Walter's first wake up was absolutely horrifying. There was a loud scream right outside his window, sounding like a wounded cat or woman. Scrambling to find his shoes and glasses, he threw open the front door frantically switching unworking switches until the forest beyond the house was illuminated by spotlights. He trembled with fright, waiting to hear the scream one more time and there it was, several short wounded screeches. Walter struggled to pinpoint the location of the sound as it bounced off the large ancient trees creating a staggered harsh echo. Now it sounded inhuman, possibly a maimed animal, he figured. He eyed a small bright white spot flash directly in the light of one spotlight. Adjusting his glasses and squinting he realized it was an owl, glowing from the light reflecting off of it's glorious white feathers. Walter was unsure this was the screaming culprit, he had thought owls only hooted, but it satisfied him enough to relax a little and head inside.

Unable to recall the reasons for his other wakings between the owl and now, he felt it was possibly just the dark cabin and still silence. Walter was used to the constant traffic drone from his downtown apartment and the city lights shining through the window. Until now, he never knew true silence or darkness.

He clicked his phone off which threw the room back into the thick darkness he was trying to tolerate. Walter snuggled deep into bed attempting to block all the fearful thoughts. Finally feeling like maybe he can sleep, his eyes closed.

Walter realized it was not completely silent, there was a very hushed rhythmic tap coming from his window. He turned to his side away from the window assuming wind was adding pressure to the glass. He imagined the owl on the other side of the window peck, peck, pecking to get his attention. The thought made him smile and comforted him. Almost. Until he recognized the tapping was too perfect to be spontaneous wind. Flipping back onto his back, he sighed and sat up fumbling again with his phone and glasses. Grabbing his phone he walked to the window and pulled back the sheer fabric curtains. He remembered earlier when first arriving at the cabin, laughing at the audacity of having a see-through curtain, what’s the purpose? Now he felt they provided him comforting security despite knowing in the depths of his mind that anything outside could see in, drawn curtains or not.

Walter peered through the dark window seeing only his reflection. He was able to locate the exact spot the tapping sound was coming from but saw nothing. Unlocking his phone he struggled with shaking fingers to turn the flashlight on. Outside his bedroom he heard floorboards rattling almost inaudibly.

Hadn’t the cabin owner told him, “the house moves at night. Don’t be startled, it’s just the house settling.” What a ‘house settling’ meant was another unknown to Walter, but he convinced himself this was it.

The tapping on the window grew louder and increased tempo. Walter shakingly found the flashlight button and lifted the phone to the origin of the tapping and moving his face so his nose barely grazed the glass. He saw nothing, except his blue reflection and his breath fogging the window, yet the tapping continued. He watched himself breathe, blurring his face with fog then receding, contemplating what he should do. Going to see what’s making the tapping seemed impossible to him after the frightening screaming owl. The owl had scarred his mind of fears of what’s beyond in the woods.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked loudly, making Walter jump. He turned towards the open bedroom door only to be drawn back to the window where the tapping had increased to the volume of knocking.

Even the idea of leaving his room now seemed like the most horrifying thing he could do. He finally realized that he was petrified. He had tried to convince himself the shivering and the hard deep breaths he felt was from the cold, but now he realized it was his flaring anxiety and fear.

At the precise moment he made this realization the knocking on the window stopped. Silence. Almost complete silence, except for creaks and squeaks of the house. Walter waited and watched closely through the window for any sign of movement, though he knew he could only see himself and nothing past the glass. With no luck, he even pressed his nose against the glass hoping to see better.

Walter backed away from the window and turned to look at his open bedroom door into the hallway’s blackness. The house that moves at night, and as he is learning that is no exaggeration. Feeling blinded by his own phone’s light he rushed to shut the curtains and ran to the door slamming it closed and flipping the lock. He stared down at his lit phone as he walked and sat on the bed trying to distract himself from his own fear. 3:16am. After removing his glasses he locked his phone before putting it on the bedside table. Walter laid down, pressing himself hard against the bed and forced himself to close his eyes. As the darkness engulfed him he prayed he would just fall asleep.

The children of the walls woke vaguely disoriented to the sound of the owl's scream outside of the cabin. They moved from their sleeping positions stretching and allowing for bones to pop and muscles to untangle. The children ranged in age, the youngest being 2 years old, and the oldest being 14. The children of the walls are beautiful in appearance but nude, caked in mud and their long hair was matted and knotted.

With rich dark skin and beautifully clouded green eyes, the oldest was always the head of the genus. This was one of the many unspoken rules of the children of the walls.

There was no light where the children were waking up, but their eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. They listened to the house around them as they awoke. One child, with pale white skin and white hair swiftly and unnaturally bent exiting through a small vent and out onto the porch of the cabin soundlessly. It ran to the depths of the forest, stopping to turn and watch the cabin. This was the watcher.

At the sound of the barn owl’s second round of screeches the head, children, and watcher were ready.

A sound of shuffling feet and floorboard squeaks sounded throughout the house. The children’s heads snapped to the direction of the sounds, following as the man made his way to the front door, their eyes wide but unseeing through the walls. The locks switched and the front door opened.

The lights flashed on around the cabin where a scared man shivering opened the door. The watcher crept into the light’s circle, the paleness of the body reflecting light, for one moment the man might have seen him.

Inside the cabin the children of the walls removed themselves from their containment, slithering, crawling and twisting themselves as they emerged through vents and holes throughout the cabin. They slide themselves into positions all around the house that would be obvious to most, but not to a petrified man. Even if he saw the children he wouldn’t believe his eyes and chalk it up to his terrified imagination.

The watcher slowly moved through the lit up woods ignoring the briars pulling and ripping skin and branches catching in its hair causing it to pull from its scalp. The owl screamed for the third time, the man switched off the light and closed the door. The watcher moved quickly stopping just short of its nose hitting the window with the sheer curtain.

As the man moved through the cabin down the hall to the bedroom, the children followed silently. They crawled with their bodies low to the ground on all fours. The head was in front following the man so closely that if he had been paying attention he would have felt the hot breath on his ankles.

As the man settled back into bed, he fell into a very uneasy sleep. The watcher watched and the children waited.

The man awoke several times to the sounds of the floorboards creak under the small but shifting weight of the children as they waited in the hallway.

Even with the sheer curtain drawn the eyesight of the watcher enabled it to see the movement on the other side of the door, the children were preparing. Against the glass the watcher focused on the man and began to tap.

The man was at the window and had opened the curtains, but was seeing nothing through the glass. What he would have seen if the porch lights worked or if he wasn't blinding himself with the light was a shining beautiful face. He was eye to eye with milky blue eyes that were able to see into the man’s eyes and beyond.

The watcher was able to see the head lead the children into the bedroom. The children’s movements were ritualistically jerky as they kept rhythm with the tapping to attempt to shield any sound they make. The worn flooring groaned loudly as the children crawled into the room. The man turned to the noise, the watcher abruptly turned its tapping into a knock bringing the man's attention back to the window.

Children infested the room, their still naked bodies seemed to dissolve into the walls, under the bed, and bedside tab.

The watcher stopped knocking and took a step back away from the window. Its job was complete.

In the bedroom the children of the walls listened. The man’s breathing became deeper and the head stepped out of its hiding place. It raised its hands, palms facing itself and began to extend each finger individual showing off the long pointed black nails attached to them. The children followed, encircling the bed. Some of them had smiles on their faces, others had saliva dribbling from their lips, and a few foamed at the mouth, hissing.

The five children closest to the bed extended their hands similar to the head and anxiously awaited to pounce.

The head screamed a guttural roar and the five rippers pounced. The children of the walls will eat tonight.