The Papered Walls

For eight months, Lena and I had shared a cramped bedroom in my parents’ century-old farmhouse, a drafty relic from the 1920s. Tradition demanded she live with us after our wedding, learning the rhythms of our family and helping with the endless chores. It was a cold, gray January when we finally prepared to move into our own tiny apartment on the east side of the valley. My parents had left for a cousin’s funeral in the next state, taking most of my siblings. Only my five-year-old sister, Mabel, and my brother, Tomas, who had offered to help us move, remained.

To keep Mabel entertained while we packed, I decided to strip the crumbling wallpaper in the hallway, a project my father had never gotten around to. Behind the floral pattern, we found layers of old newspapers, brittle and yellowed, used as insulation against the winter winds. The dates on them were from 1927. Lena and I sat on the floor, reading fragments aloud: advertisements for tonics and corsets, news about the county fair, and a small column about a local woman who had vanished. Her name was Elspeth Whitmore, and she had been a new bride, living in this very house, which was then a modest farmhouse. She had disappeared one winter night, leaving behind her husband and a note that said only, ‘I am going into the walls.’ The article ended with a quote from the sheriff: ‘We searched the house and grounds, but it was as if she vanished into thin air.’

Tomas laughed, ‘Probably ran off with a traveling salesman.’ But Lena frowned, running her fingers over the faded print. ‘It’s just a story,’ I said, folding the newspaper. But as I did, I noticed something half-hidden in the page: a drawing, faded and barely visible, of a small door. On the door was a symbol, a spiral with a broken line. I dismissed it as a decorative border.

That night, as we finished packing the last of the boxes, a storm rolled in, rattling the old windows. Mabel was asleep on the couch in the living room, which was now bare except for a few pieces of furniture. Lena and I were in the hallway, taping the last box, when we heard a sound from behind the wall, not a scurrying of mice, but a distinct rhythmic tapping. Tap. Tap. Tap. It seemed to come from the spot where we had found the newspaper article. We exchanged glances. ‘Probably just the pipes,’ I said, but my voice was thin. Lena shook her head, ‘No, it’s too rhythmic.’ She knelt and pressed her ear to the wall. Her eyes went wide. ‘It’s repeating a pattern. Three taps, then two, then four.’ She started tapping the pattern back. The wall went silent.

A moment later, the sound came again, slightly faster, like an urgent reply. Lena’s face had gone pale. ‘It’s Morse code. It’s saying ‘help’.’ I felt a cold dread seep into my bones. ‘Lena, stop playing games.’ But she was already frantically tapping more messages. The tapping grew louder, more frantic. The wallpaper began to bulge, as if something were pushing from the inside. I grabbed Lena’s arm to pull her away, but she resisted, her eyes fixed on the swelling spot. The plaster cracked, and we heard a woman’s voice, muffled but clear: ‘Let me out.’

Mabel woke with a scream. The sound from the wall ceased, but the voice left a cold silence. Now, we were frozen in fear. Tomas, who had been in the kitchen, came running. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. I couldn’t speak. Lena pointed at the wall, which had stopped moving. ‘There’s something in there,’ she whispered. Tomas, pragmatic as ever, grabbed a crowbar from the tool shed and began to pry at the cracked section of the wall. The plaster gave way, revealing a narrow gap between the lath and the interior wall. Inside, we saw not insulation, but something else: a small, child-sized door, painted the same color as the wall, with the spiral symbol we had seen in the newspaper drawing.

Suddenly, Mabel, who was now standing behind us, said, ‘I know her. She likes to play hide and seek.’ We all turned to stare at her. Lena knelt, ‘Who?’ Mabel pointed at the tiny door. ‘The lady in the walls. She told me not to tell.’ I felt a chill run down my spine. Tomas reached out and grabbed the handle of the tiny door. ‘No!’ Lena cried, but it was too late. He turned it, and the door swung open, revealing a pitch-black space that seemed to go on far longer than the physical space of the wall should allow. From within, we heard the faint, echoing sound of a woman’s laughter.

A gust of icy wind blew out the lantern we had set on the floor. When the light died, we heard Mabel scream. In the dark, I fumbled for her hand, but grasped something cold and thin, like a bundle of twigs. Then the laughter grew louder, and I felt a force pull me toward the door. Lena grabbed my other hand, shouting, ‘Don’t let it take you!’ I strained against the pull, but it was too strong. The darkness enveloped me, and I felt myself falling into a cold, damp place that smelled of old soil and rot.

I landed with a thud on the ground. Above me, I saw a faint light; the doorway back to the hallway, but it was shrinking, as if the walls were closing in. I scrambled to my feet, reaching for the edge, but it closed completely. I was in a narrow passage, barely wide enough to crawl, with dirt and ancient dust underfoot. I heard a voice beside me, a soothing whisper, ‘Welcome home, bride.’ I turned, and in the dim light, I saw a woman, her skin pale and cracked like old paper, her eyes dark hollows. She was dressed in a tattered white gown, stained with age. She smiled, and her lips were stitched together with black thread.

I woke up in the hallway, gasping. Lena was shaking me, tears streaming down her face. Tomas was holding Mabel, who was laughing. ‘Did you see her?’ Mabel asked. ‘She said you could stay, but you belong to us now.’ The tiny door was gone, sealed over as if it had never existed. The storm had passed, and the house was silent. We moved out the next day, but we never spoke of that night.

Yet, in our new apartment, on the first night, I woke to see a shadow at the foot of the bed, a woman with a stitched mouth. She pointed at my stomach. A few weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant. And sometimes, late at night, I hear a faint tapping inside my abdomen, a rhythm of three taps, then two, then four.