Echoes

Night fell over Mercer Hall not as a curtain, but as a heavy, suffocating blanket. The house didn't just get dark; it absorbed the light, hoarding shadows in the corners of the high ceilings and beneath the claw-foot furniture. Iris sat on the edge of her childhood bed, the mattress sagging in the middle like a hammock, the bus ticket still burning a hole in her pocket.

She had spent the last hour staring at the date. October 15, 1990. The day *after*. It changed everything. It meant the police report was wrong. It meant Cordelia’s grief was based on a lie. It meant Julian’s story—the one he told with such polished, practiced sadness at dinner parties—was a fabrication.

She needed to hear a sane voice. She dialed Maya.

"Mom?" Maya’s voice was tinny, filtered through a bad connection and the background noise of a busy cafeteria. "Did you get my text? The Dean’s office is being super aggressive."

"I got it, honey," Iris said, forcing her voice into the register of Maternal Calm. It was a performance she had perfected over twenty years. "Don't worry about the deposit. The estate sale is going to cover it. I found some... vintage clothing today. Collectors items."

"That's great! Because I really don't want to defer. I'm already a year older than everyone in my biochem lab." Maya laughed, but the edge of anxiety was sharp enough to cut glass. "So, is Great Uncle Julian being his usual charming self?"

"He brought pastries," Iris said, looking at the door. She had wedged a chair under the knob. Just in case. "He's... managing."

"He's creepy, Mom. I saw him near campus last week, remember? I still think that was weird."

"He travels a lot," Iris said, the defense automatic even though she no longer believed it. "Listen, Maya. I might need you to look up something for me. Do you still have access to the old microfiche archives at the university library?"

"Yeah, why? Are you doing genealogy?"

"Something like that," Iris said. "I'm looking for police reports from October 1990. Specifically, missing persons in Mercer County."

"Okay..." Maya sounded confused. "Mom, are you alright? You sound tight."

"I'm fine. Just tired. The dust here is prehistoric."

They said goodnight, and the silence that rushed back into the room was absolute. Iris set the phone down. She couldn't tell Maya the truth. Not yet. Not until she knew what the truth was.

She couldn't sleep. Her throat was parched, scratching with the dust of the linen closet. She needed water.

She moved the chair from the door, wincing as the legs scraped against the hardwood. The hallway was a tunnel of gloom. The portraits of dead Vances seemed to watch her pass, their eyes following her in the dim light of the streetlamps filtering through the transom window.

The house settled around her. It was a living thing, breathing in drafts and exhaling in creaks. A floorboard groaned upstairs. A window sash rattled in the wind.

But as she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, the sounds changed.

It wasn't the wind.

It was a rhythm.

*Thump.* Pause. *Thump.*

It sounded like a heartbeat, slow and heavy, coming from beneath her feet.

Iris froze, her hand gripping the banister. She held her breath, straining to hear over the pounding of her own blood.

*Thump.*

It was coming from the kitchen. Or rather, below the kitchen.

She walked toward the back of the house, her bare feet silent on the runner. The kitchen was cold, the moonlight gleaming on the copper pots hanging from the rack. She filled a glass at the sink, her eyes fixed on the floor.

The sound came again. Louder now. Not a settling beam. Not a pipe expanding.

It was an impact. Something hitting the subfloor from underneath.

She set the glass down. The water rippled.

She knelt on the linoleum, pressing her ear to the cold tiles near the pantry door. The pantry where the dumbwaiter shaft was welded shut.

Silence. Then, a scrape. The sound of something heavy dragging across concrete.

And then, the tapping began.

It wasn't random. It was deliberate.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

A pause, thick and terrified.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

Iris pressed her hand flat against the floor. She could feel the vibration through her fingertips. Someone was down there. Someone was awake in the dark, hitting the ceiling of their cage.

It wasn't a settling pipe. It was a rhythmic tapping. Three knocks. Pause. Three knocks.