After we moved into our new home, I felt ready to start the life I had always dreamed of. But just as everything seemed perfect, an unsettling experience began unfolding at night. I kept hearing the soft, rhythmic sound of a baby crying—faint, but unmistakable—coming from inside the basement wall.
We had moved in on a Saturday morning, the house littered with boxes, my arms aching from the work, Jake grumpy, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
This house was everything I had ever wanted. It was spacious, flooded with light, and had those creaky old floors that gave it a unique character—a feeling that it had a soul. The backyard was large enough for a swing set and a vegetable garden.
“Jake, can you believe this?” I asked, looking around at the open living room, still filled with unpacked boxes.
The walls were bare, and the floors were dusty, but I could already picture curtains hanging at the windows, little feet running through the rooms.
“This is it. This is our home. I can’t wait until we have kids here. This place will be perfect for them.”
Jake grunted as he set a box down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s get everything unpacked before we start talking about babies,” he muttered.
We had bought the house using the inheritance I received from my grandmother. Jake had wanted something smaller—maybe a condo—and suggested using the rest of the money for his business.
But I had fallen in love with this house as soon as I saw it. I wanted space, warmth, and a home for a family we hadn’t even started yet.
Later that day, I ventured down to the basement, curious to see what kind of space it offered.
The stairs creaked under my feet, but the basement itself was surprisingly open. Nothing but gray concrete, some dusty cobwebs, and a lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
It was quiet—perhaps too quiet—but not creepy. I thought it would make a good storage area.
I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and noticed an older man near the fence. He wore worn jeans and a flannel shirt, watering what appeared to be tomatoes. I walked over to introduce myself.
“Hi! I’m Emma. We just moved in today,” I said, waving.
The man barely nodded. “I know.”
“I love the house. It has so much character. I already have so many plans for it,” I continued.
He looked me directly in the eyes. “But leave the basement alone.”
I blinked, unsure of what he meant. “What?”
“The people before you left because of it. Just stay upstairs,” he said flatly.
“What happened down there?” I asked.
“I’m not here to explain myself,” he snapped, turning away without saying another word.
Back inside, I told Jake what the neighbor had said. He barely reacted, just shrugged, and suggested I call Maggie, the realtor. So I did.
Maggie chuckled softly through the phone. “That’s Mr. Dwyer. He’s strange with everyone. He actually wanted the house too, but lost the bid. Don’t let him spook you. There’s nothing wrong with the basement.”
I thanked her and hung up, but when I glanced toward the window, I saw Dwyer watching me from his house. His eyes never left mine. I quickly shut the curtains, feeling uneasy.
The first few days passed without incident. I worked from home while Jake went into the office. We unpacked, argued over furniture placement, and ordered way too much takeout.
I started to relax, convincing myself Maggie was right, and Dwyer was just bitter about losing the house.
Then one night, I suddenly woke up. I wasn’t sure why, but then I heard it—faint, muffled crying. Not just any crying—a baby. My heart raced as I sat up in bed.
“Jake,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. He didn’t respond.
That’s when I noticed the pill bottle on his nightstand. He had mentioned struggling with sleep lately, so he must have taken something.
The crying continued. I got up, flicked on the hallway light, and noticed the sound was coming from below—the basement. My hands trembled as I opened the door to the basement and turned on the light.
Silence.
I walked down slowly, listening for anything, but the crying had stopped completely.
The room was empty—just the same concrete walls, the same hanging lightbulb. No sign of anyone or anything.
The next morning, I told Jake what happened. He shrugged it off. “You were probably dreaming.”
“I wasn’t,” I insisted. “I was wide awake. I heard it. It was real.”
“If it was real, wouldn’t I have heard it too?” he asked, sipping his coffee.
“You were out cold,” I reminded him. “You took something to sleep, remember?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t. I was going to, but I decided not to.”
I stared at him. “Jake, I tried waking you up. You didn’t even flinch.”
He waved it off. “Em, you’re stressed. Moving’s a lot. Your brain’s just… off right now.”
That same afternoon, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Dwyer in our backyard, standing near the basement window. I marched outside.
“What are you doing on our property?” I demanded.
He turned slowly. “Heard something last night. Thought I’d check if everything’s okay.”
“Then knock on the door like a normal person.”
“I don’t like talking to people,” he replied bluntly.
“That doesn’t give you the right to trespass,” I said, my voice rising. “You were peeking into our basement window.”
“Just making sure it’s safe.”
I noticed something small and black in his hand—it looked like a speaker. But before I could ask, he turned and walked away.
That night, I heard the crying again. Just like before. I dashed downstairs, flicked on the light, and, once again, it stopped immediately. I went back up and shook Jake awake.
“I heard it again,” I told him. “I went down, and it stopped the second I opened the door.”
“Emma, come on,” he groaned. “You really think this makes sense? If it were a real baby, we’d hear it more often. Not just once every night.”
“Maybe it’s not constant. Maybe it’s triggered somehow. Or maybe someone’s doing it on purpose.”
“You’re scaring yourself. You need to see a doctor.”
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered.
But after several more nights of the same experience, I started to wonder if he was right. The crying always started suddenly. And when I approached the basement, it would stop.
I stopped sleeping. I barely ate. My mind kept circling the same impossible questions.
One night, I decided to stay in the basement longer. I stood quietly in the center of the room, listening.
The crying stopped, as usual, but something was off about the walls. They looked… too clean. Too smooth.
I knocked along the surfaces, until one spot stood out—it echoed differently. The wall wasn’t brick. It was drywall.
I grabbed a hammer. A few swings and a small panel broke away.
Behind it, wedged between the studs, was a black speaker. And everything clicked. There was no ghost. No mystery. Someone had been playing the sound on purpose.
And who had access to the house before we bought it? Mr. Dwyer. Maggie had told us he had the keys to show buyers around when she couldn’t be there.
I stormed across the lawn, holding the speaker. I pounded on his door, furious. A light came on, and moments later, he yanked it open.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “It’s the middle of the night!”
“You’ve been keeping me up for days,” I snapped. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” I said, holding up the speaker. “You planted this in our basement wall. I saw you holding one just like it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that? What do I get out of it?”
“You knew exactly what to do with it. You played the crying sound to make me think I was losing my mind, then stopped it when I got near. You wanted to scare me out of that house.”
“And how would I know you were in the basement?” he asked.
I hesitated, then replied slowly. “Because you could see when the lights came on. You’ve been watching us from your window. I’ve seen you.”
“That’s insane,” he snapped. “I watch all the houses on this street. I’m keeping the neighborhood safe, not spying on you.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said. “You told me not to go in the basement the first day we moved in. You wanted us out because you planned to buy the house yourself.”
“I was going to, until I found out the basement floods every damn winter. That’s why the last family left. That’s why I told you to stay out of it. Anything you keep down there’s gonna get ruined!”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not doing this,” he spat, slamming the door in my face.
I stood there for a moment, shaken, unsure who to believe. I turned and walked back to the house, the speaker still in my hands.
Inside, I went straight to the bedroom. Jake was asleep. I sat beside him and shook his shoulder.
He groaned and rolled over. “What time is it?”
“Jake, I found it,” I said. “I found the speaker. It was inside the wall in the