The House That Listens

The house had a way of listening.

Not in the way walls should, no creaks answering footsteps, no pipes knocking before running water but with patience that felt deliberate. As if it waited for voices to finish speaking before deciding what to do with them.

Mara noticed it first on a Tuesday evening when the sky outside of the kitchen window dimmed a little too early and the clock on the stove changed from 6:12 to 6:19 by itself with no explanation.

She stood at the counter, hands wet from washing the dishes staring at the clock as though she was expecting an apology.

“Did the power go out for a minute or flicker?” She yelled to Jonah in the other room.

Jonah did not answer. He was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by unpacked boxes. They had moved into the house three weeks ago telling themselves that they had plenty of time to unpack because this was their forever home.

Mara dried her hands on her apron and walked towards him. “Jonah?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” He said without looking up. He was holding one of her old leather-bound notebooks she used to keep lists and unfinished thoughts. She had not realized she had packed it in a box with the dishes.

“You shouldn’t be going through my things.” She said sternly.

“I wasn’t.” He replied. “The box was already open and I was unpacking dishes. Why did you put it in there with the dishes anyway?”

She reached for the notebook but he closed it first and fast. His fingers rested on the cover just a second too long.

“It was weird.” He said. “You wrote about this place.”

Mara frowned and crinkled her nose. “That’s impossible.”

He handed it to her. She flipped through the pages slowly at first then more quickly. The handwriting was hers but the words were unfamiliar.

The house listens before it speaks.

It repeats what it hears but not in the way you expect.

“I didn’t write this.” She said.

Jonah shrugged. “Maybe you just forgot.”

She wanted to argue but the house got quiet in a way that felt attentive and suddenly she did not want to speak.

That night Mara dreamed she was standing in the hallway calling out to Jonah. Each time she spoke the sound traveled down the hallway and returned altered, longer and stretched thin. The syllables rearranged until her own voice sounded like someone else’s.

When she woke up Jonah was gone. Not entirely though. His shoes were by the door and his phone was charging on the night stand. But his side of the bed was empty and cold. The clock said 6:19.

She searched the house calling for him. First softly and then louder. Her voice echoed strangely as though the walls absorbed it then released back to her.

In the living room is where she found Jonah standing in front of the mirror above the fireplace. When she entered the room he did not turn around.

“Jonah.”

“I was listening.” He replied.

“To what?”

He tilted his head slightly to the left. “To us.”

Mara’s reflection caught her eye. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled up a little too tight in a ponytail. Jonah’s face in the mirror looked calm and serene.

“There’s something wrong with this house.” She said.

He smiled but not at her at their reflections. “You said that yesterday.”

“No I didn’t.”

Mara’s heart started beating faster. She remembered the notebook and the unfamiliar words written in her own handwriting.

“We need to leave.” She said. “Maybe just for a night. Get a hotel somewhere.”

Jonah shook his head. “It doesn’t like that.”

“The house doesn’t like what?” She asked.

“That we think about leaving.”

Mara took a step back. “Jonah, that does not make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He said. “It just has to hear it.”

The whispering began after that.

At first it was easy to dismiss. Air moving through the vents. The house creaked to settle. A slight murmur beneath the running water and things they deemed as normal with an old house.

Jonah heard it when he closed his eyes at night, a saturation of words invading his thoughts. Words he would not remember when he woke up. But he knew that these were words the house heard and listened to.

They stopped talking about it. Somehow, even without discussing it they both knew that naming it would make it stronger. Instead they communicated in glances, half-sentences and gestures. Silence became the new language of the house.

Days blurred. The clocks misbehaved oddly skipping ahead or repeating the same time over and over again throughout the day and night. The light outside of the windows remained stubbornly gray as if the sun decided not to commit to its presence or absence.

Mara began to find notes that she had not written but were in her handwriting.

Don’t argue in the hallway.

It remembers anger.

Whispers are questions.

She burned the first one in the sink and watched the paper curl and blacken. The smoke faintly smelled like an old book burning. The second note appeared the next day. It was written more neatly.

You’re changing.

The house is always listening.

Jonah started changing. He spent hours just sitting on the stairs as though he was listening to someone who only he could hear. When Mara touched his shoulder he reacted somewhat violently at times and then he would immediately apologize.

“It is hard to tell which voice is yours anymore.” He once said.

“That’s not funny.” Mara laughed slightly.

“I did not mean it to be.”

One evening during a rare moment of courage, Mara said, “Do you think the house is trying to tell us something?”

Jonah thought about it for a minute. “I think it already has.”

“What did it say?”

He looked at her and his eyes had turned dark. “I don’t know if it said it to me or as me.”

She didn’t sleep much that night. She was still dreaming of rooms folding in on themselves, hallways lengthening until the doors were unreachable. She had a dream that she spoke and the house answered using her mouth.

In the morning the notebook was open on the kitchen table. A new entry filled several pages. The handwriting is unmistakable hers.

It doesn’t want to hurt us.

It wants us to stay.

It wants to be full.

Mara slammed the notebook shut. “We’re leaving.” She said.

Jonah did not argue. He simply nodded as though he had already made the same decision.

They packed quickly and didn’t speak. The house creaked softly. A sound of disappointment. The front door resisted when Jonah tried to open it. Then finally it gave in with a groan.

Outside the street looked unfamiliar. It didn’t look the way they had remembered it. The houses were now closer together. The sky was colorless. They reached the car and Jonah opened the trunk. Inside the trunk were their suitcases neatly arranged.

Mara stared in horror. “We didn’t put those there.”

Jonah closed the trunk. “It did.”

“Not that it is impossible.”

“Is it though?” He asked.

She grabbed his arm. “We can still go? Just drive. Don’t think about it. Don’t talk.”

He hesitated. For a moment she thought he might agree. Then he gently removed her hand from his arm. “It’s already heard us.” He said. “Leaving won’t change that.”

They stood beside the car as it idled. The house behind them was silent and watchful.

Mara felt something pressing against her thoughts. Not words exactly but intention. A sense of being known too well.

“What does it want?” She whispered to Jonah.

Jonah did not answer.

The house made a sound right then, not a whisper, not a voice, but like something easing back into place.

The clock on the car’s dashboard flickered from 6:12 to 6:19.

Mara looked at Jonah. He was smiling faintly as though he was listening to something she could not hear.

And then–

The house waited.