Narrator: Hannah R. | Ohio, USA
The stairs in our rental had a loose board three steps from the top. You could hear somebody coming up even with the television on. A normal person made it squeak once. Our dog made it squeak twice because he always stopped there to look back.
One Tuesday, while I was folding towels upstairs, that board squeaked and stayed down.
I could see the top four steps from the bedroom. Nobody was on them. The carpet over the loose board had a shallow dip in it, as if a heel were pressing through from underneath.
I watched long enough for a towel to slide off my lap. Then the next step sank. Both boards were down at the same time, with nothing visible between them.
I backed into the bedroom and shut the door. The floor outside made the small popping sounds it made when my husband stood there taking his boots off. Something brushed the bottom of the door from left to right. Very slowly. It pushed a strand of the old carpet underneath.
My husband found me sitting on the bed with all the towels still in my arms. He checked the stairs, then got annoyed because I wouldn’t come down and show him what I meant.
We stayed another five months. Nothing else happened, which somehow made it harder to explain why I used to call him before walking upstairs. I keep that bit to myself when I tell people about the house.
