The Shadows Beneath the Floorboards

the faded wallpaper, and the lingering smell of years gone by that made her feel connected to the past. So when she found a listing for a secluded Victorian home in the country, she didn’t hesitate to buy it. The price was too good to pass up, and the house was exactly what she had been looking for—spacious, with high ceilings and plenty of room for her to renovate.

Her first few weeks there were filled with excitement. She painted the walls, fixed the plumbing, and made the place her own. But then the noises started.

At first, it was just a faint scraping sound. It would come in the middle of the night, just as she was drifting off to sleep. Samantha would roll over, convinced it was just the house settling. But then the sound grew louder. The scraping became a soft thudding, as though something was tapping against the underside of the floorboards.

She tried to ignore it, but it became harder with each passing night. There was no logical explanation for the noises. The house was old, yes, but surely nothing could be causing that kind of sound beneath the floors. Maybe a rodent? A squirrel or a raccoon? But the sound was too rhythmic, too deliberate.

One evening, after another restless night, Samantha decided she had had enough. Armed with a flashlight and a crowbar, she made her way down to the basement. The light flickered overhead as she moved toward the far corner, where the sound seemed to originate.

The floorboards were old and warped, with cracks that seemed to be widening with time. As she shined the flashlight on them, the scraping grew louder—closer. She knelt down, her heart pounding, and began prying up the floorboards, one by one.

It took some time, but eventually, she pulled up the last of the planks, revealing a dark, musty cavity beneath the house. The air that rushed up from it was thick and heavy, and a chill crawled up her spine.

At first, she didn’t see anything. Just dirt and dust. But then, her flashlight beam caught something—a small, black shape, just out of reach.

Samantha leaned in closer, her breath quickening. She reached her hand down into the cavity, brushing away the debris. Her fingers brushed against something cold—something that shouldn’t have been there.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickered, and for a brief second, she saw it. A hand. Pale, with fingers long and twisted, reaching up from beneath the house.

A cold wave of terror surged through her, and she yanked her hand back, stumbling away from the hole. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the unmistakable sound of something shifting beneath the floor, something trying to climb out.

The air grew heavier, suffocating her, and the scraping sound grew louder, frantic. Then, there was silence.

Samantha stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around, but there was nothing—no sign of what she had touched, no sign of movement. Just darkness. But she knew that something was down there. Something that had been hiding beneath her home, just waiting for her to uncover it.

The next few days were a blur. Samantha couldn't shake the image of that hand, the feeling of it brushing against her fingers. She spent every moment she could repairing the hole in the floor, covering it with new boards, and locking the basement door behind her. But the unease never left.

The noises persisted, growing louder each night. Thuds and scratches. Whispers. And sometimes, just before sleep claimed her, she could swear she heard a voice—soft and rasping—coming from beneath the floorboards, calling her name.

"Samantha..."

It was always the same. A slow, drawn-out whisper. At first, she thought it was her imagination. But then the door to the basement would creak open by itself, and the whispers would grow louder.

Desperate for answers, Samantha began to research the house’s history. The more she dug, the more unsettling things became. The house had been abandoned for decades before she bought it, but there had been rumors. Stories about the previous owner, a man named Vincent, who had vanished without a trace. No one knew what happened to him, but there were whispers that he had been obsessed with the house. That he had spent hours in the basement, digging beneath the floor, trying to uncover something he believed was buried there.

According to the stories, Vincent had found something—something dark and ancient. Something that had been hidden for a reason.

And when he tried to release it, he was never seen again.

One evening, Samantha stood at the basement door, staring down into the blackness below. The whispers were louder now, almost frantic, like they were urging her to come closer. But as she reached for the door handle, she hesitated. She didn’t know if she was ready to face whatever was beneath the floor.

But she knew one thing for sure—whatever was down there, it wasn’t going to stay hidden much longer.

And it wanted her.