The Breathing in the Walls

November 5, 2026

by Gwendolyn

3 min read

Story Premise 3 min read (407 words)

"Four years ago, I moved to Boston with my partner, Alex. We were pinching pennies, so we crashed with my uncle in his cramped one-bedroom in a pre-war brownstone in Dorchester. The building had that old, musty smell, and the radiators clanked like bones in a grave. We slept on a futon in the living […]"

Four years ago, I moved to Boston with my partner, Alex. We were pinching pennies, so we crashed with my uncle in his cramped one-bedroom in a pre-war brownstone in Dorchester. The building had that old, musty smell, and the radiators clanked like bones in a grave. We slept on a futon in the living room; my uncle took the bedroom.

At first, everything was normal—just the usual creaks of an aging house. But after a few weeks, I started noticing a sound at night. It was a low, rhythmic breathing, like someone inhaling and exhaling slowly. I assumed it was Alex, but when I turned to check, she was dead asleep, her breathing shallow. The sound persisted, and I traced it to the wall behind our heads. I pressed my ear against the wallpaper—it seemed to come from inside. I laughed it off, thinking it was the plumbing or the neighbor’s TV. But it grew louder each night.

One night, I woke to find Alex sitting up, her face pale. ‘There’s something in the walls,’ she whispered. ‘I heard it whisper my name.’ I told her it was just our imagination, but she was adamant. We decided to investigate the building’s basement, where the furnace was. We descended the rickety stairs, flashlights in hand. The basement was a labyrinth of old trunks and coal chutes. In the corner, behind a pile of newspapers, we found a small door, almost invisible. It was locked, but the lock was rusty, and it gave way with a push.

Behind the door was a crawl space, and as we entered, the breathing was unmistakable—loud and close. Our flashlight beam fell on a bundle of rags in the center. But as we approached, we realized it wasn’t rags. It was a woman, emaciated, her skin gray, her eyes open but milky. She was breathing, her chest rising and falling. We screamed and scrambled back. The landlord, a gruff old man, later told us that the building had been a boarding house in the 1920s, and a tenant had disappeared without a trace. He always suspected the walls were hollow in places.

We moved out the next week, but the breathing followed us. I hear it now, even in our new apartment. Alex doesn’t hear it anymore—she thinks I’m going mad. But I know it’s the woman, and she’s in my walls, waiting to be found.

Related Horror Movies to Watch

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Escape the Dark

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The Devil's Familiar

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Suvarna

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