The Maw in the Wall

I have never been one to believe in the supernatural, at least not fully. I’ve always chalked up strange occurrences to faulty wiring, drafts, or an overactive imagination. But what happened last Tuesday has left me questioning everything I thought I knew about the world.

It was a night like any other, except I couldn’t sleep. I’d just moved into an old apartment building downtown, the kind with creaky floors and radiators that clank like ghostly chains. My cat, Gizmo, was curled at the foot of my bed, purring softly. I’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, my mind racing with the day’s stress—a deadline at work, a fight with my sister, the usual.

Then, around 3 AM, a sound sliced through the silence. It wasn’t a scream exactly, more like a sustained, high-pitched shriek, like metal scraping on metal, but organic. It was coming from the wall behind my headboard. Gizmo shot up, his ears flat, and he let out a low growl. The sound was so loud, so piercing, that I felt it in my teeth. I pulled the pillow over my head, but it didn’t help. The noise seemed to bypass my ears and vibrate directly in my skull.

I told myself it was the pipes, or maybe a faulty transformer outside. But Gizmo was hissing now, backing away from the wall, his fur bristling. I reached to comfort him, but he darted under the bed, leaving me alone with that terrible sound.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The silence that followed was so profound it was almost deafening. I lay there, heart pounding, listening. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Gizmo stayed hidden, and I was too afraid to move.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet on the cold hardwood. I grabbed my phone for light, and approached the wall. I pressed my ear against the spot where the sound had come from. Nothing. But as I pulled away, my fingers brushed against a slight depression in the plaster, about the size of a fist.

I’d never noticed it before. It looked like a dark circle, and as I shone the light on it, I saw it wasn’t just a depression—it was a hole, perfectly round, as if someone had drilled a tiny, clean hole and then painted over it. I couldn’t resist. I leaned in and peered through the hole.

On the other side, I expected to see the neighbor’s apartment or maybe a dark pipe. Instead, I saw a faint, sickly yellow glow, like the light from a dying bulb. And there was a smell, something like rotting meat mixed with vinegar. I recoiled, gagging.

That’s when the sound started again, but this time it was different. It was lower, more like a moan, and it was coming from directly behind the hole. I froze. Something was on the other side, and it was aware of me.

I stumbled back, grabbing Gizmo from under the bed, and fled to the living room. I sat on the couch, hugging him, until dawn. The sound never returned that night, but I knew it was waiting.

Over the next few days, I tried to ignore the hole. I hung a tapestry over it, but the spot kept pulling at my attention. Then, at night, I’d hear faint whispers, not words, but a susurrus like wind through dead leaves. And sometimes, I’d catch a whiff of that decayed smell.

Last night, I woke to the screams again, louder than ever. The tapestry had been yanked off the wall and lay crumpled on the floor. The hole was bigger now, the edges ragged, as if something inside was chewing its way out. And through it, I saw not a yellow glow, but a single, glistening eye, the size of a dinner plate, staring back at me.

I grabbed my keys and ran. I didn’t even take Gizmo—I was too terrified. I spent the night in a 24-hour diner, trying to convince myself it was a nightmare. But when I returned in the morning, the door to my apartment was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, and the smell hit me first. The hallway was covered in a thick, dark liquid, and the wall where the hole had been was now a gaping maw, black and wet, with what looked like teeth lining the edges.

I didn’t stay to investigate. I ran again, and I’ve been staying at a friend’s place ever since. I plan to move out, to never go back. But I know that thing is still there. And every time I close my eyes, I see that eye, and I hear that scream. I don’t know what it was, or where it came from, but I know it’s not done with me. It’s waiting. And one day, it might come through the wall for me.