It was unmistakable this time.
The walls were breathing.
When they had first looked around the house it seemed to chatter at them, creaking in response to their footsteps, sighing with every door that opened.
When they had finally moved in, it became a trickster, opening windows in pouring rain and exhaling occasional crows from the fireplace. They had wondered if the house was listening to them, half joking at first before whispering their discomfort behind shaking hands.
“Why are we whispering?”
“It might be listening.”
“It?”
“The house”.
A movement in their peripheral vision.
A deep breath. A laugh.
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