The house at the end of the lane had always been quiet—but not the comforting kind of quiet. It was the kind that felt like it was listening back.
Raghav moved in alone, drawn by the low rent and the promise of isolation. He told himself he needed peace, needed distance from the chaos of the city and the memories he couldn't quite bury. The house seemed perfect.
At first.
The first night, he heard it—a faint scraping beneath the wooden floor of his bedroom. Not loud, not violent. Just… persistent. Like nails brushing against wood from below.
He dismissed it. Rats, maybe.
The second night, the scraping came again. But this time, it stopped when he sat up in bed.
And then… something knocked.Three slow taps.From beneath him.
Raghav's breath caught in his throat. He laughed nervously, whispering to himself, "Old pipes… just old pipes."
But pipes don't knock back.
By the fourth night, sleep had become impossible. The scraping had turned into dragging. Something heavy shifting below the floorboards. And every time Raghav tried to ignore it, the same three knocks followed.
Tap.Tap.Tap.
As if asking to be let in.
Driven by a mix of fear and frustration, Raghav finally snapped. "Enough!" he shouted into the empty room.
Silence.
For the first time in days, there was no sound.
Relief flooded him—until he noticed something strange.
The wooden planks beneath his bed were… slightly raised.
Like something underneath had been pushing up.
Heart pounding, Raghav grabbed a crowbar from the kitchen. Each step back to the bedroom felt heavier than the last, as if the house itself didn't want him to proceed.
But he had to know.
He wedged the crowbar between the boards and pulled.
The wood cracked open with a splintering groan.
And then—
He saw it.
A face.
Not a full body. Not even a head. Just a face, pressed tightly against the dirt beneath the house, as if it had always been there.
Its skin was pale, stretched too thin over something that didn't quite look human. Its eyes were wide open—unblinking, glossy, and fixed directly on him.
And it was smiling.
Too wide. Too deep. As if the grin had been carved into its face.
Raghav stumbled backward, dropping the crowbar.
The face didn't move.
But the smile… widened.
Then came the whisper.
"You took your time."
Raghav's blood ran cold. "W-what are you?"
The thing's lips didn't move. Yet he heard it clearly.
"I've been waiting. So long… waiting for someone to open the door."
The ground beneath the house began to tremble slightly. More scraping. Louder now. Surrounding him.
Not one.
Many.
Raghav turned to run—but stopped.
Because something inside him shifted.
All his life, he had run from things—fear, regret, guilt. The past he buried. The mistakes he never faced.
But now… here it was. Something that wanted him. Something that had been waiting just for him.
And strangely… he felt calm.
Satisfied.
He stepped closer to the opening.
The face's eyes gleamed.
"Will you let us in?" it asked.
Raghav stared into the darkness beneath, where more shapes were beginning to form, more smiles emerging from the shadows.
And then, slowly… he smiled back.
"Yes."
The floor gave way.
The house fell silent once more.
Days later, new tenants arrived. A young couple, excited about their quiet new home.
That night, as they lay in bed, the woman frowned.
"Did you hear that?"
Her husband turned. "Hear what?"
She hesitated.
"…scratching. Under the floor."
And then—
Tap.Tap.Tap.
But this time… the sound felt different.
Not patient.
Hungry.
And beneath the floorboards, unseen in the dark—
Raghav smiled