I live alone, and there’s no explanation for the sounds in the walls
Channel: Scary Stories
Date: 2022-12-04

I live alone, and there’s no explanation for the sounds in the walls

Living alone allows me to walk around naked, shit with the door open, leave dirty dishes in the sink, and masturbate with impunity. It’s the best arrangement I’ve ever had, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But it makes things *so* much creepier when I hear people in the next room.

I was almost asleep when the crying started.

We’re good at convincing ourselves that the nighttime sounds we hear are natural creaks and sighs of a house settling. It would be impossible to sleep otherwise; think about that next time you’re drifting off in the dark.

It was quiet at first, so I told myself to ignore it.

Then it got louder, and I convinced myself that my mind was playing tricks on me. I pressed my ear firmly against the pillow until I could hear the thrumming of my own pulse. The room has to be pitch black when I sleep, so I had almost complete sensory deprivation. 

Except for the sobbing. As the noise grew louder, it became harder and harder to pretend it was a natural sound.

My bedroom is adjacent to the living room. They share a wall.

The noise was emanating from my living room. I could tell, even from a distance, that something was on the couch.

I prayed for sleep, but my heart rate accelerated too quickly for that to be possible. Instead, I wrapped the pillow around my head in an attempt to drown out the noise. It worked.

Until it didn’t.

The sobs were now loud enough for me to tell that it was a baby crying. *Wailing*. Its little lungs were at full volume as it screeched on my living room couch.

I wished I hadn’t left my phone charging in the living room, on the table right next to the couch.

I wiped my tears on the pillow at told myself that it would go away if I could just fall asleep. It would either be a dream, or – if this were real – it could simply disappear if I didn’t hear it. We all believe that night monsters can’t reach us if we’re safe under the covers, and I was grasping at the same logic.

But I couldn’t fall asleep.

The baby in my living room was just too loud. 

I had no other choice. The infant was between me and my front door, computer, and phone. I live on the second floor and can’t climb out the window. 

And I live alone.

I had to confront the baby.

The delirious part of my mind wondered if I would have to attack something that awaited me in the dark, but it didn’t matter. I have no weapons, and I wouldn’t know how even to attempt overpowering someone. 

So I pulled back the covers and stepped out of bed. My hands shook. I tried to keep my breaths as quiet as possible, which just left me gasping. 

I resolved not to turn on any lights, because I didn’t want any potential attackers to know were I was.

So I moved through the dark.

I’m not a brave person. But slinking through my apartment in the middle of the night, *knowing* that I was going to find a stranger, was no great feat of overcoming fear. 

I was simply too terrified to stay in bed. 

I blinked tears away as I tried to fight back the vomit. My instincts simultaneously told me not to move forward and not to stay still as I pulled open my bedroom door and looked into the darkness beyond.

The crying was much louder with the door open, but I still couldn’t see anything. I considered crumpling into a ball and sobbing myself, but was too scared of being watched by someone who might be in my living room. 

I thought about running out the front door and into the night. Even without a phone, car keys, or a plan, I still embraced the thought of sprinting into the freezing dark wearing nothing other than the shirt that I sleep in. 

But I would have had to pass the baby in the dark. It was too much.

The tears streamed down my face as I clapped a hand over my mouth in an attempt to keep myself quiet. I stepped forward at the apex of each scream, resting one bare foot on the wooden floor at a time, hoping to make no noise.

Step by step, I moved through the pitch black living room.

I had no choice. Whoever was in here with me would almost certainly be watching as I moved through the center of the room. I *felt* them looking at me as I slinked closer to the baby, closer to the door. There were eyes on all sides, I was sure of it. 

My entire body shook as I realized the truth: I had to turn on the lights. They knew where I was. I *had* to know what was happening. 

A sob slipped from my lips as I leaned over the couch in the darkness, the baby’s crying just beneath me. I prayed that I would wake up, or that turning out the lights would make everything magically disappear.

I found the switch and hesitated for a moment, knowing that I couldn’t go back once I saw what was waiting for me.

I didn’t want to do this.

Then I *forced* myself to flip the switch.

The room came into view all at once. An unfamiliar newborn, wrapped in swaddling clothes, shook on the couch just three feet away from me. My stomach dropped at the sight; it was somehow more terr