The Cry Beneath the Floorboards

They told us the house had “character.”

Five of us stood in the gravel driveway, staring at it like it might blink first.

A weekend getaway, that’s all it was supposed to be. No signal. No neighbors. Just trees pressing in from all sides and a long dirt road that felt like it had forgotten how to lead anywhere.

“Cheap for a reason,” Malik muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The agent had barely spoken when we met her. She just handed over the keys with a strange smile and her eyes avoiding the doorway.

None of us noticed, or maybe we just chose not to.

We were very tired.

City-tired, noise-tired and life-tired.

So we took the house.

The silence hit first.

It was not peaceful or calming.

It was heavy.

Like the air had been sitting there too long, waiting for something to disturb it.

“You feel that?” Aisha asked, rubbing her arms.

“Feel what?” Daniel said, already inside.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

We laughed it off.

That’s what people do right before things go wrong.

The first night, we stayed up late. Music. Drinks. Laughter bouncing off walls that didn’t quite return it properly.

That’s when we heard it.

A soft cry.

We all stopped.

“Did you guys...”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Cat?” Malik suggested.

“Out here?” Aisha shook her head.

The cry came again.

Thin.

Weak.

Wrong.

It sounded like it was coming from inside the house.

We searched.

Kitchen. Closets. Basement door, all locked.

“Probably pipes,” Daniel said.

But his voice wasn’t convincing.

None of us slept well.

The second night, it got louder.

Not just crying anymore.

A sound like something dragging.

Underneath us.

We were all in the living room when it happened.

Right beneath the floorboards.

“Okay, I’m not crazy,” Aisha said, backing away from the center of the room.

Knock.

We froze.

Knock. Knock.

Deliberate.

From below.

Malik grabbed a flashlight. “There’s got to be a crawlspace or something.”

“There’s no entrance,” I said.

Another knock.

Then...

A voice, loud and clear.

“…Mama…”

Aisha screamed.

Daniel laughed, but too fast. Too loud. “Alright, that’s enough. Someone’s messing with us.”

“Who?” I snapped. “There’s nobody out here!”

The crying started again.

Longer this time.

And underneath it, more voices.

Faint but layered.

We didn’t say it out loud, but we all felt it.

We weren’t alone.

The next morning, we tried to leave.

But, the car wouldn’t start.

Not even a click.

“Battery’s dead?” Malik said.

“All of them?” I asked.

Every phone had no signal.

The road back looked different somehow. Longer. Narrower. Like the trees had leaned in overnight.

Aisha didn’t stop looking at the house.

“It doesn’t want us to go,” she whispered.

No one argued.

We all just decided to nstay back.

That night, we stayed together.

No more splitting up. No more jokes.

Just five people sitting in a circle, listening.

Waiting.

The crying started earlier.

Louder.

Desperate.

“Make it stop,” Aisha said, covering her ears.

“I’m going to check the basement,” Daniel said suddenly.

“There is no basement.”

“There has to be.”

Before we could stop him, he grabbed a crowbar from the kitchen and started prying at the floorboards.

“Daniel, stop...”

CRACK.

The wood split.

The crying stopped instantly.

Silence flooded the room.

Daniel froze.

Then slowly, he leaned closer to the gap.

“What is that…” he whispered.

I wish he hadn’t.

I wish none of us had.

A hand shot out.

Gray. Thin. Fingers twitching.

It grabbed Daniel’s wrist.

He screamed.

More hands followed.

Dozens.

Pulling.

Clawing.

We tried to grab him but something else was pulling harder and stronger.

His nails scraped the floor as he was dragged toward the opening.

“HELP ME...”

Then he was gone.

Just like that.

The floorboards snapped shut.

The crying returned.

Louder.

Satisfied.

We didn’t sleep.

We didn’t talk.

We just waited for morning like it might save us.

It didn’t.

Malik disappeared next.

We found the front door open.

No footprints.

Just scratch marks on the wood.

From the inside.

By the fourth night, there were only three of us left.

Aisha wouldn’t stop whispering.

“They’re cold,” she kept saying. “They’re so cold.”

“Who?” I asked.

She looked at me like I was stupid.

“The children.”

We heard footsteps that night.

Not beneath us.

Above.

Slow.

Heavy.

Like someone walking across the ceiling.

Then something dropped.

Right in front of us.

A mask.

White.

Cracked.

Smudged with something dark.

And behind it, a figure.

Tall.

Still.

Watching.

Not one of them.

Something else.

Something that didn’t cry.

Something that collected.

It moved very fast.

Too fast.

Aisha didn’t even have time to scream.

I ran.

I don’t remember deciding to, I just did.

Out the door. Into the trees.

Branches tearing at my skin.

The crying followed.

Not from the house anymore.

From everywhere.

I don’t know how long I ran.

Hours.

Maybe days.

But eventually, I made it out.

They say I was found on the side of the road.

Alone.

Delirious.

No house behind me.

No road leading back.

Nothing.

But I know what I heard.

What I still hear.

At night.

When everything is quiet.

When the world forgets to breathe.

Soft crying.

Closer each time.

Last night, it wasn’t under the bed.

Or in the walls.

It was right beside me.

A whisper.

Clear.

Certain.

“You left us.”

And this time, it wasn’t alone.