Chapter 3
But they hadn't covered everything.
Right in the dead center of the wet plaster was the heavy steel frame of a narrow metal door.
It looked like the kind of door you would find on an industrial electrical panel, or a small safe. It was painted a dull, flat grey. And secured through a heavy steel hasp on the right side was a brand-new, thick brass padlock.
I stood there, staring at the fresh plaster. The smell of it was overwhelming now—damp, chalky, chemical.
I slowly turned my head to look at Vanessa.
She had backed up all the way into the hallway. Her face was completely drained of color. The skin around her mouth was chalk-white. She looked like a ghost. She was clutching her own elbows, staring at the metal door with a look of absolute, naked terror.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Then, the room went completely, suffocatingly quiet. The only sound was my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
THUD.
The sound wasn't a pipe settling. It wasn't water in the walls.
It was a heavy, deliberate, rhythmic knock.
And it was coming from the other side of the locked metal door.
Lily let out a soft whimper, pressing her face entirely into the side of my leg. She squeezed her eyes shut.
THUD.
THUD.
I stared at the thick brass padlock.
Someone was breathing inside our walls.
--- CHAPTER 2 ---
The echo of the heavy front door slamming shut faded into the drywall. Dust drifted lazily through the beam of my phone's flashlight, catching the afternoon sun. The storage room was completely, oppressively silent.
The boy huddled inside the hollow wall didn't move. He kept his thin, trembling arm raised over his face, shielding his eyes from the harsh LED light.
I slowly lowered my phone, pointing the beam at the rough wooden subfloor so it wouldn't blind him. The ambient light caught the sharp angles of his face. He was so incredibly thin. I could clearly count the ridges of his collarbones pressing against the fabric of his filthy, oversized grey t-shirt.
I didn't know what to do with my hands. I placed my framing hammer quietly on the floorboards. I crouched down, making myself as small and unthreatening as possible. The smell of the hidden space—a harsh mix of ammonia, stale sweat, and damp wood—was making my eyes water.
"Hey," I whispered. My voice cracked completely. I cleared my throat and tried again, forcing it to stay low and steady. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
He didn't answer. He just pulled his knees tighter to his chest, trying to press himself further into the yellow fiberglass insulation behind him. His bare feet were black with dirt, his toenails jagged and torn.
I felt a small hand tug on the back of my flannel shirt.
I turned my head. Lily was standing right behind me. She had stopped crying. Her face was completely blank, settled into the hollow, detached expression kids get when they've seen too much to process.
"He doesn't talk, Dad," Lily said quietly.
I stared at my six-year-old daughter. The air in the dusty room suddenly felt incredibly thin. I couldn't get a full breath into my lungs.
"You know him, bug?" I asked. I barely recognized my own voice.
Lily nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the floorboards. "His name is Leo. She told me if I ever told you about the wall, she would put me in the dark box too."
A cold, heavy sickness settled deep into the pit of my stomach. The sweet, patient woman who packed Lily's lunches. The woman who kissed my cheek every morning and talked about wedding venues. She had been holding this threat over my terrified daughter's head for God knows how long.
"How long have you known he was in there, Lily?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Since it got cold outside," she said simply.
It was mid-September. We had moved into this house in late April. That meant for almost five months, there had been a child locked behind our walls, and I had been completely blind to it.
Lily stepped around my leg. She didn't hesitate. She walked right up to the jagged, ruined edge of the smashed plaster.
She reached into the pocket of her pink jeans and pulled out a small, slightly crushed granola bar. She must have taken it from the pantry this morning.
She held it out into the dark space. "It's okay, Leo," she whispered. "The monster is gone. My dad made her go away."
The boy in the wall slowly lowered his arm. He didn't look at me. He looked only at Lily. His pale hazel eyes darted down to the granola bar in her hand, then back up to her face.
May you like
He uncurled his body. It took him a long time. His joints seemed stiff, his small muscles trembling violently with the sheer effort of moving. He crawled forward over the rough, unfinished wood. His elbows and knees were covered in dark, yellowing bruises.
When he reached the edge of the metal doorframe, he stopped. He looked out at the bright, sunlit storage room like it was a completely alien landscape.
