After we settled into our new home, I was finally ready to start the life I had always dreamed of. But just as everything seemed perfect, something strange started happening at night. I began hearing the soft, rhythmic wailing of a baby, muffled yet distinct, coming from somewhere inside the basement wall.

We moved in on a Saturday morning. The house was filled with boxes, my arms were sore from the moving, and Jake was grumpy, but I couldn't stop smiling.

This house was everything I’d imagined. It was spacious, full of natural light, with creaky floors that added charm, making it feel alive. There was even a big backyard, just perfect for a swing set and a vegetable garden.

“Jake, can you believe this?” I looked around the open living room, filled with sunlight and scattered boxes.

The walls were bare, and the floors were dusty, but I could already envision curtains swaying in the windows and little feet running from room to room.

“This is it,” I said, smiling. “This is our home. I can’t wait until we have kids here. It’s going to be perfect for them.”

Jake set the box down with a grunt and rubbed his neck. “Let’s just get everything unpacked before we start talking about babies,” he muttered.

We bought the house using the inheritance I received from my grandmother. Jake had wanted something smaller, like a condo, and suggested putting the rest into his business.

But the moment I saw this house, I fell in love. I wanted space. I wanted warmth. I wanted a home for a family we hadn’t even started yet.

Later that day, I decided to explore the basement to see what we were working with.

The stairs creaked under my feet, but the space itself was surprisingly open. There was nothing but gray concrete, a few dusty cobwebs, and a single lightbulb swaying from the ceiling.

It was quiet, maybe too quiet, but not scary. I figured it would make a great storage area.

I stepped into the backyard for some fresh air and noticed an older man near the fence. He was wearing worn jeans and a flannel shirt, watering what looked like tomatoes. I walked over, smiling.

“Hi! I’m Emma. We just moved in today,” I said, waving.

He barely nodded. “I know.”

“I love the house,” I continued. “It has so much character. I’ve got a ton of plans for it already.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “But leave the basement alone.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

“The people before you left because of it. Just stay upstairs,” he said flatly.

“What happened down there?”

“I’m not here to explain myself,” he snapped, turning away without another word.

Back inside, I told Jake what the neighbor had said. He barely reacted, just shrugged, and told me to call Maggie, the realtor. So I did.

Maggie laughed softly through the phone. “That’s Mr. Dwyer. He’s odd with everyone. He actually wanted that 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 own. His eyes didn’t move. I quickly pulled the curtains shut, feeling unsettled.

The first few days in the house passed without trouble. I worked from home while Jake went to the office. We unpacked, argued about furniture placement, and ordered too much takeout.

I started to relax, convincing myself that Maggie was right and Dwyer was just bitter.

Then one night, I woke up suddenly. I didn’t know why at first, but then I heard it—a faint, muffled sound, like crying. Not just any crying. A baby. My chest tightened as I sat up in bed.

“Jake,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. He didn’t move.

That’s when I saw the pill bottle on his nightstand. He had mentioned having trouble sleeping lately. He must’ve taken something.

The crying continued. I got up, flipped on the hallway light, and followed the sound. It was coming from below—the basement. My hand trembled as I opened the door and turned on the basement light.

Silence.

I walked down slowly, listening carefully, but the crying had stopped completely.

The room was empty, the same concrete walls, the same hanging bulb. No signs of anyone—or anything.

The next morning, I told Jake everything. He just shrugged. “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. 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 afternoon, I saw Mr. Dwyer in the backyard, standing near the basement window. I stormed outside.

“What are you doing on our property?” I snapped.

He turned slowly. “Heard something last night. Thought I’d check if everything’s okay.”

“Then knock on the front door like a normal person.”

“I don’t like talking to people,” he said 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 in his hand, a small black object that looked like a speaker. But before I could ask, he turned and walked off.

That night, I heard the crying again. Just like before. I ran downstairs, flicked the light on, and again, it stopped instantly. I went back up and shook Jake until he woke.

“I heard it again. 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 someone. Talk to a doctor.”

“I’m not crazy,” I whispered.

But after a few more nights of the same thing, I started wondering if he was right. The crying would start out of nowhere. The second I got near the basement, it stopped.

I stopped sleeping. I barely ate. My thoughts kept circling the same impossible questions.

Until one night, I stayed down there longer. I stood in the middle of the room and listened.

The crying had stopped, like usual, but the walls seemed... too clean. Too smooth.

I walked along them, knocking until something sounded different. One section echoed more than the rest. The wall wasn’t brick. It was drywall.

I grabbed the hammer. It only took a few swings before a small panel broke away.

Behind it, wedged between the studs, was a black speaker. And everything clicked. There was no ghost. No mystery. Just someone playing a sound, over and over.

And guess who had access to this house before we bought it? Mr. Dwyer. Maggie told us he had the keys to show buyers around when she wasn’t available.

I stormed out the front door and across the lawn, still holding the speaker. I banged on his door like I was going to break it. A light came on. A moment later, he yanked it open.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “It’s the middle of the damn night!”

“You’ve been keeping me up for days,” I snapped. “So you can deal with one night of me screaming at your door.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.” I held the speaker up. “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 the hell would I get out of it?”

“You knew exactly what to do with it. You turned on the crying to make me think I was losing my mind, then turned it off when I got near it. You wanted to scare me out of that house.”

“And how would I even know you were in the basement?”

I hesitated, then answered 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 barked. “I watch all the houses on this street. I’m keeping the neighborhood safe, not spying on you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I shot back. “You told me not to go into the basement the very first day. You wanted us out because you planned to buy that 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 snapped, then slammed the door in my face.

I stood there a moment, shaking, unsure who to believe. I turned and walked back home, speaker still in hand.

Inside, I went straight to the bedroom. Jake was asleep. I sat down beside him and shook his shoulder.

He groaned and rolled over. “What time is it?”

“Jake, I found it,” I said. “I found a speaker. It was inside the wall in the basement. That’s what was making the crying sound.”

He blinked. “Wait… seriously?”

I nodded and held it up. “This. This was playing the sound every night.”

He sat up and rubbed his face. “Well, at least now you know it wasn’t real. That should make you feel better.”

“I think Mr. Dwyer planted it. He had access before we moved in. Maggie said he had the keys while the house was listed.”

Jake frowned. “Even if that’s true, how are you going to prove it? You can’t go to the police with just a speaker and a hunch. It’s not worth it.”

I looked down at the speaker, still in my hands. Suddenly, it made a soft chime.

A split second later, a low voice came through it, then cut off. I glanced at Jake’s phone and saw the Bluetooth icon flashing.

“Your phone just connected to it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“This thing just paired to your phone. That only happens if the phone’s been connected before.”

“Maybe it’s just a really good speaker.”

“No. It remembers your device because it’s already been linked.”

“Emma, you’re overthinking this.”

“Did you put it in the wall?”

“No.”

“Jake, don’t lie to me,” I said, my voice cracking. “You moved the furniture in here alone while I was at work. You could’ve easily done it.”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “It was you.”

He stood up and yelled, “Because you wouldn’t listen! You pushed for this house. You pushed for kids. You didn’t care what I wanted!”

“So you made me think I was insane?”

“I needed you to hate it! I thought if you wanted to sell, we could use the money for something that made sense.”

“You used a baby’s cry. You knew how much I wanted a family, and you used it to hurt me.”

“You’re acting like I’m the villain here,” Jake snapped. “You’ve known from the beginning I wasn’t ready for kids. You pushed anyway. You did this. You forced this future on me.”

“Get out.”

“You can’t kick me out! It’s my house too.”

“No, it’s not,” I said quietly. “It’s in my name. Get your things and go. Or I swear I’ll call the police.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. And you have thirty seconds.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then grabbed his jacket and phone without another word. The door slammed behind him.

I sat on the bed and looked around at the space I had fallen in love with. It was still mine. It was still warm. Just without him in it.