Lucy swung her legs out of bed and stood in the dark, bare feet on cold floorboards. Every part of her wanted to dismiss it, to crawl back under the covers and let the rational explanations win. Instead, she walked down the hallway toward the sound, each step measured, the familiar house suddenly unfamiliar again.
Lucy pressed her palm against the painted surface, feeling only the cool, faintly uneven texture of old plaster. The wall did not vibrate, did not offer the satisfying tremor of pipes or machinery. It simply stood there, dense and unhelpful, holding its silence as if that were an answer in itself.