Something is in the basement. I can hear it rustling among the cardboard boxes and garbage bags. I’m clutching my phone and staring dead into the TV screen. It’s nothing, I tell myself, It’s probably just a squirrel that snuck in. Still, my heart throbs in my ears. 

A crash comes from the basement. My phone clatters to the floor. I dig my fingernails into the couch cushions. Squeezing my eyes shut, I listen to the horrible silence coming from the basement. I almost convince myself that I can hear the intruder’s breathing. 

Then, I hear the faintest of clicking noises at the bottom of the basement steps, the sound of clawed feet climbing the stairs. Click, click. The clicking only grows louder, heavier, closer. I keep my eyes shut, too afraid to face whatever is on its way upstairs. I’m almost sure I can hear the hollow sound of bones knocking against each other, like a loose skeleton. The noise stops and my stomach lurches. 

The last thing I hear is the basement door slowly creaking open, and the sound of bones dragging across the hardwood floor.