Chapter 1: The Secret Behind the Wall
The little girl hiding inside my bedroom wall had my face, my birthmark, and my eyes.
But the moment she called me Daddy, my wife screamed like she'd just seen a ghost.
For three weeks, I'd been hearing scratching noises behind our bedroom wall. At first, I blamed mice. Then I blamed the old plumbing. My wife, Claire, insisted it was nothing.
But our four-year-old daughter, Lily, had a different explanation.
She said there was a little girl living inside her closet.
And apparently, that girl was hungry.
"There's a girl in my room, Daddy," Lily told me one morning over breakfast.
I lowered my coffee.
"What girl, sweetheart?""
"The one behind the wood. She talks to me when Mommy goes downstairs.""
Claire's fork slipped against her plate.
"Children make things up, Ryan," she said quickly.
"You know how Lily's imagination works.""
Lily shook her head.
"She doesn't like Mommy.""
Claire's face tightened.
"That's enough, Lily.""
I looked between them.
Something about Claire's reaction bothered me, but I didn't push it. We lived in an old two-story house outside Portland, Oregon. The previous owners had renovated most of it, but some of the bedroom closets still had original wooden panels.
I figured Lily had discovered a loose board and invented an imaginary friend.
I was wrong.
Yesterday afternoon, I came home early from work.
The house was unusually quiet. Claire had taken a shower upstairs, and Lily was supposed to be playing in her bedroom.
Then I heard a soft voice.
"Are you hungry?""
It came from Lily's room.
I stopped in the hallway.
"Just a little," another voice whispered.
I pushed the bedroom door open.
Lily was kneeling in front of her closet, holding a slice of bread. She was carefully pushing it through a narrow gap between two wooden panels.
"Lily?""
She jumped.
"Daddy!""
I stared at the bread.
"What are you doing?""
"Feeding her.""
"Feeding who?""
Lily glanced nervously toward the bathroom.
"My friend.""
I crouched beside her.
"Sweetheart, there isn't anyone in there.""
Lily frowned.
"Yes, there is. She's been hungry for a long time.""
A cold feeling crawled up my spine.
I examined the closet. One wooden panel looked slightly different from the others. Its bottom edge was scratched, and there were tiny fingerprints in the dust.
I pressed against it.
It moved.
"Lily, step back.""
I pulled harder.
The panel came loose with a dry crack.
Behind it was a narrow opening, barely wide enough for an adult to crawl through.
The smell hit me first.
Damp wood. Stale air. Something metallic.
Then I saw two small eyes reflecting the afternoon light.
I froze.
A little girl was sitting in the darkness.
She couldn't have been more than five or six. Her knees were pulled against her chest, and her thin arms wrapped around them. Her clothes were filthy, her hair tangled, and her cheeks were streaked with dirt.
She was trembling.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
I reached toward her.
Behind me, footsteps pounded across the hallway.
"Ryan! Don't touch her!""
Claire stood in the doorway.
Her face had gone completely white.
"Call the police," I said.
"There's a child in the wall!""
Claire didn't move.
Instead, she stared at the little girl.
The girl slowly lifted her head.
Her eyes moved from Claire to me.
Then her trembling lips parted.
"Daddy?""
My hand stopped in midair.
"What?""
She crawled forward slightly.
"Daddy, you came back.""
I couldn't breathe.
The little girl had my eyes. The same dark brown eyes I'd seen in the mirror every morning for thirty-six years.
Then I noticed the small crescent-shaped birthmark on the left side of her neck.
I had the exact same mark.
My fingers instinctively touched my own neck.
"Who are you?"" I whispered.
Claire made a strangled sound behind me.
Then her knees buckled.
She collapsed onto the carpet, covering her mouth as tears poured down her face.
"Claire?"" I turned toward her.
"What is happening?""
She shook her head.
"No. No, no, no.""
The little girl reached for my hand.
"Please don't let him take me again, Daddy.""
My blood turned cold.
"Who took you?""
Before she could answer, something moved deeper inside the wall.
A heavy footstep.
Then another.
The little girl immediately scrambled backward, pressing herself against the wooden frame.
"He's coming," she whispered.
I grabbed the edge of the opening.
"Who's coming?""
A tall shadow appeared in the darkness.
Someone was standing behind the little girl.
Someone who had been inside that wall the entire time.
A man's hand emerged first, holding an old photograph.
Then a familiar voice spoke.
"Ryan, I see you've finally met your daughter.""
I recognized the photograph.
It was taken at my parents' house twenty years ago.
My father was standing beside my mother.
And between them was a little boy who looked exactly like me.
May you like
But the man holding it had my father's wedding ring.
My father had been dead for eleven years.
