Chapter 1: The Sound Inside text
I hired a young man named Jesse to mow my daughter’s lawn while she was away. About an hour after he arrived, my phone rang.
His voice was low and tense.
“Mr Whitmore… is someone supposed to be inside the house?”
I froze.
“Why are you asking me that?”
The lawn mower shut off in the background.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I heard it too.
A faint, unsettling sound coming from somewhere inside my daughter’s home.
My daughter Clara called me shortly after eight on Thursday morning.
I was standing on a ladder, clearing wet leaves from the gutter, when my phone began vibrating in my pocket.
“Morning, Dad,” she said.
The moment I heard her voice, I frowned.
“You sound exhausted.”
She gave a quiet laugh, but there was no energy in it.
“It’s been a difficult week.”
Behind her, I could hear the usual airport noise—muffled announcements, luggage wheels crossing the floor, and dozens of voices overlapping.
“I’m already at the airport,” she explained. “They started boarding earlier than expected, so it’s a little chaotic.”
I smiled.
“You still arrive far too early for every flight.”
“I know,” she said. “It helps with the anxiety.”
Then she became quiet.
“I wanted to thank you again for watching the house while I’m gone.”
“Clara, you never have to thank me for that. I’m your father.”
“And thank you for finding someone to cut the grass.”
“He should arrive around one.”
“Good. That’s perfect.”
Another silence followed.
This one felt different.
Heavier.
More deliberate.
“If you go inside today,” she said carefully, “don’t be surprised if the house looks emptier than usual. I packed a few things away before I left.”
I paused.
“Are you moving without telling me?”
She laughed, but the sound came too quickly.
“No. I just wanted everything organised.”
It was an odd answer.
But Clara had not been herself for months.
Since her divorce from Evan, she had become cautious in ways she had never been before.
She checked every lock twice.
She closed the curtains before sunset.
She kept receipts, legal papers, and screenshots carefully organised in folders.
She treated every door, window, and unfamiliar sound as something that needed to be monitored.
She never admitted that she was frightened.
But I could see it.
“You’ll call me when you land?” I asked.
“I will.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Then the call ended.
I had no idea that it would be the last ordinary conversation we shared that day.
Around noon, I stopped at Clara’s house to water her flowers before returning home.
Everything appeared normal.
The white shutters were closed.
The porch was clean.
There were no packages or boxes beside the front door.
I checked the mailbox, watered the hanging baskets, and made sure the side gate was locked.
As I drove away, I noticed an unfamiliar pickup truck leaving the neighbourhood.
I could not see the driver clearly.
At the time, I barely thought about it.
Later, I would regret that more than I could explain.
At 1:15, Jesse sent me a photograph of the front lawn.
The grass had been cut neatly and evenly.
Looking good so far. Starting the backyard now.
I replied with a thumbs-up and returned to cleaning the garage.
About forty minutes later, my phone rang.
The instant I heard Jesse’s voice, my stomach tightened.
“Mr Whitmore?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I lowered the broom.
“What happened?”
“I keep hearing something.”
“What kind of sound?”
He hesitated.
“It sounds like someone crying.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Where is it coming from?”
“Inside your daughter’s house.”
For a moment, I could not speak.
“That house is supposed to be empty.”
“I thought it might be coming from another garden,” Jesse said quickly. “But every time I switch off the mower, I hear it again. I’m almost certain it’s inside.”
Then the mower stopped.
Silence stretched between us.
And then I heard it.
A weak, distant sound.
Faint, but unmistakably real.
It sounded like someone trying to call for help without having enough strength to raise their voice.
Jesse whispered, “That’s it. That’s what I’ve been hearing.”
My blood turned cold.
“No one should be in that house.”
“I know,” he said. “I didn’t go inside. I just thought that if someone was hurt, I should call you first.”
“You did the right thing.”
I was already reaching for my truck keys.
“Stay outside, Jesse.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m coming now.”
I called Clara immediately.
The call went straight to voicemail.
She might still have been on the plane, but this time the silence filled me with dread.
I left a message.
“Clara, call me the moment you hear this.”
Then I called Evan.
He did not answer either.
Their divorce had been final for almost a year, but the custody fight over their young son, Liam, had continued through one court hearing after another.
Clara and Evan rarely communicated unless it concerned Liam, and even then, most of their messages passed through lawyers.
As I backed out of my driveway, another memory returned.
Three weeks earlier, Clara had come to my house for dinner looking pale and distracted.
Halfway through the meal, she lifted her eyes towards me.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If someone kept driving past your house…”
I placed my fork down.
“What do you mean?”
“Slowing down, looking at the property, then driving away.”
“How many times?”
She stared at her plate and pushed the food around with her fork.
“A few times in one week.”
I leaned forward.
“Clara, is someone doing that to you?”
She forced a smile.
“It’s probably nothing.”
I had not believed her.
But I had allowed her to change the subject.
Now, speeding towards her house, I hated myself for it.
The drive took less than fifteen minutes.
Jesse stood beside the mower when I pulled into the driveway.
Relief crossed his face the moment he saw me.
“Thank God you’re here.”
“You stayed outside?”
“Yes, sir. Just like you told me.”
He pointed towards the backyard.
“The sound keeps starting, then stopping.”
As though the house had heard him, another faint cry drifted through the quiet afternoon.
It was soft.
But clear.
Clear enough to make the hair on my arms rise.
May you like
I stared at Clara’s house as a cold feeling spread through me.
“I hear it,” I whispered.
