The Knocking in the Walls

Maya had always been sensitive to the creaks and groans of old houses, but this was different. For the past two nights, a rhythmic pounding had sounded from the floor beside her bed, as if something were knocking from under the floorboards. It would start just as she was drifting off, a steady thump-thump-thump, and then fade when she flicked on the light. She told herself it was the house settling, the pipes, maybe a raccoon in the crawlspace. But the feeling that accompanied it, a pressure on the mattress as if someone were sitting at the foot of her bed, was harder to dismiss.

Maya had grown up with the rituals, her mother’s whispered prayers in the dark, the sharp smell of holy water. When the pressure came, she would recite the Our Father and Hail Mary under her breath, and the weight would lift, the knocking would cease. It was a temporary reprieve, a fragile shield against something that seemed to want her attention.

Years ago, in a sweltering Florida apartment, she had seen it. She was home sick, feverish, and in the haze of her illness, a figure had stood beside her bed. It wore a mask, stark white and black, with a long, grim face and strings of black hair that seemed to move on their own. It watched her, motionless, until she managed to croak out a prayer, and then it was gone. Her mother had seen it too, once, in the hallway, and had described the same terrifying visage.

Now, in this new house in Oregon, the memories resurfaced. Her mother called her after the second night, her voice trembling. ‘I had the dream again, Maya. The mask, the figures in the haze.’ Maya felt a chill crawl up her spine. Her mother went on, telling her that years ago, when they were moving to California, she had been lying in bed and a haze of masked figures had materialized around her. She had felt them watching, their heads tilting in unison, and the moment she whispered the Hail Mary, they vanished. Maya’s father had been in California, her sister had already moved out, and it was just the two of them in that empty house. Her sister’s boyfriend had laughed it off, but Maya knew her mother wasn’t prone to fancies.

The knocking came again that night, louder, almost frantic. Maya pressed her hands to her ears, but the sound was inside her skull. The pressure on the bed intensified, and for a moment, she felt the weight of a hand on her ankle through the covers. She chanted the prayers, but the words felt hollow, and the knocking only grew faster. Then, she heard a voice, not in her ears but in her mind, a raspy whisper: ‘You think prayers can keep us away?’

Maya reached for the lamp, but the switch wouldn’t move. The room was plunged in darkness. She heard a scrabbling sound in the walls, like claws on wood. She screamed for her mother, but the only answer was the pounding, now coming from all directions. She threw the covers off and ran for the door, but the door was locked from the outside. She turned back to the bed, and there it was, the masked figure, sitting in the chair by her window, its head angled in a way that suggested a smile beneath the carved wood.

It spoke again, its voice like dry leaves. ‘We were here long before your prayers. We will be here long after.’

Maya closed her eyes and forced herself to recite the Hail Mary, but the words came out wrong, twisted. She began to cry, and the figure laughed, a sound like a leaky faucet. And then, as suddenly as it started, the pounding stopped. The room was silent. Maya opened her eyes, and the figure was gone.

But in the corner of the room, a small, dark shape was forming, growing, taking the shape of a mask. Maya reached for her phone, but her fingers couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, and the shape was sliding across the floor toward her.

She woke up the next morning on the floor, her phone cold in her hand. The knocking had stopped, but she knew it was only waiting. She called her mother, and before she could speak, her mother said, ‘I know, baby. It’s back. Pray for us all.’