It began with a sound. A quiet, almost inaudible scraping that came from the walls after midnight. At first, Sarah dismissed it, blaming the old house's settling timbers. She lived alone, having recently bought the duplex, and was still adjusting to its unfamiliar sounds. But soon, the scraping was joined by a gentle, rhythmic hum. It was not the hum of a machine, but something organic and chillingly melodic.One night, the humming was louder, more urgent. It seemed to resonate from the kitchen, directly below her bedroom. The noise was followed by a crash of breaking dishes so violent it shook her bed. Terrified, Sarah bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs. Was it an intruder? Had someone broken in? She crept downstairs, clutching a heavy flashlight.The kitchen was silent and dark. Nothing was broken. The dishes were neatly stacked in the sink, just as she had left them. Her flashlight beam landed on the window. It was closed, but a small, smudged handprint was visible on the pane. A child's handprint. But she had no children.Over the next few weeks, the occurrences grew bolder. Shadowy figures appeared in her peripheral vision. She'd catch sight of a small form slipping around corners or ducking into hallways. The most terrifying incident occurred when she saw her own shadow, detached from her body, watching her from across the room. It would melt back into the darkness whenever she turned to face it.Driven by fear, Sarah invited her friend Mark over, desperate for some semblance of normalcy. As they sat talking, Mark suddenly froze, staring at a space behind Sarah. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling. Mark was silent, his face pale with dread. He slowly pointed toward the far end of the hallway. There, on the wall, a long, black shadow was slinking along the floor. It wasn't Mark's shadow. It wasn't Sarah's. The shadow stopped at the base of the stairs, pooled into a dark mass, and began to rise.Mark grabbed her and they fled, tumbling out the front door into the chilly night air. He called the police, who arrived and found nothing amiss, just as before. They dismissed it as a prank or a hallucination. Mark, however, had also seen the eerie shadow and was convinced something was wrong.The next morning, Sarah returned to the house alone to retrieve some belongings. She felt its presence the moment she stepped inside, stronger and closer than ever before. A silent, watchful figure lurking in every corner. Then she saw it clearly. Her shadow, a dark, malevolent version of herself, stood in the hallway. It had stretched and distorted, its features now vaguely human, its mouth stitched shut.With a low, mocking hum, the shadow raised a hand. The walls began to melt, revealing hundreds of screaming faces trapped within the structure. It wasn't just a house; it was a trap. The humming was not a sound, but a feeding signal. It fed on souls, not bodies. The shadow lunged, and Sarah's flashlight flickered.Then, darkness.When she opened her eyes, she was outside, on the porch. The door behind her was sealed shut, the house silent and still. She was free. Or so she thought. She looked down at her feet and saw a new shadow at her side. Darker and more sinister than before. A silent, watchful figure that would never leave. She was not alone.
