The old house had always creaked, especially at night, but recently the sounds had changed. It wasn't just pipes or floorboards anymore it was voices. Faint, muffled conversations drifting up from the basement, always starting just after midnight. At first, I thought it was the neighbors or maybe a radio left on, but the words were too clear. Too specific. They were saying my name, asking questions about things no one should know. Things I’d never told anyone.

One night, I gathered the nerve to go down. Each step into the basement felt heavier, like the air itself didn’t want me there. The voices stopped as soon as I reached the bottom, leaving only silence and the hum of the water heater. But just as I turned to leave, I heard a whisper directly behind me so close I felt the breath on my neck. “We’ve been waiting.” I turned, but there was no one. Just the dark, and the cold realization that whatever was down here wasn’t human… and it knew me. Shutdown123