Seven days passed faster than Rayden wanted them to.
Each day, he woke up to the same squeaking fan, the same cold air, and the same empty fridge. Each day, he forced himself to check job sites, apply to part-time jobs he knew wouldn't call him back, and eat whatever scraps he could afford with the last coins in his pocket.
And now, the seventh day was here.
Rayden sat on the floor, staring at the eviction notice in his hand. The words felt heavier than the paper, like they were carved into his bones.
"It's fine," he told himself. "I'll figure something out."
But the truth was, there was nothing to figure out.
He had no job. No money. No friends he could ask for help without swallowing the last bit of pride he had left.
His stomach growled, but he ignored it, pulling his knees to his chest as the morning sun slipped through the dirty window.
Knock. Knock.
Rayden flinched. The sound echoed in the silence of the room.
Knock. Knock.
"Rayden! Open up!"
It was the landlord's voice, gruff and impatient. Rayden took a deep breath, standing up on shaky legs, and opened the door.
The landlord, a bald man with a permanent scowl, stood there with crossed arms.
"Today's the day, Rayden."
Rayden tried to smile, but it came out as a twitch. "I… I know."
The landlord sighed, looking past Rayden into the small, empty room. "Look, kid, you're not a bad tenant, but business is business. You can't stay here for free."
"Yeah."
"You got anywhere to go?"
Rayden opened his mouth, but no words came out. The landlord nodded slowly, understanding without needing to hear it.
"I'll give you until noon. Pack up your things."
Rayden nodded, closing the door quietly. He stood there for a moment, the quiet of the room suddenly louder than the landlord's knocking.
He looked around the room, trying to figure out what to pack.
There wasn't much.
A few clothes, a cracked mug, his phone charger, the thin blanket, and a small bag of toiletries. He folded the futon, tying it with a piece of string, and placed it near the door.
As he packed, his phone buzzed on the floor.
[Mom: "Ray, your dad and I were talking. How are you holding up?"]
Rayden stared at the message, the phone screen reflecting his tired face.
"I'm fine," he typed back, pausing before hitting send.
His phone buzzed again almost immediately.
[Mom: "We know you're not. We've been thinking… Maybe it's time you go to the Grey
Estate."]
Rayden froze, fingers hovering over the screen.
The Grey Estate.
That empty, creepy house in the countryside that his family renovates every generation but never lives in because of the "noises." His parents use it for storage and sometimes for family gatherings, but no one ever stayed there for long.
"We're serious, Ray. It's free. You won't have to pay rent."
Rayden's grip on the phone tightened. The thought of living in that eerie place, alone, with those rumors of noises at night, made his skin crawl.
"I'll think about it," he typed back, hitting send.
Knock. Knock.
Rayden looked up as the landlord knocked again.
"Time's up, kid."
Rayden slung his small bag over his shoulder, picking up the tied futon. The landlord stepped aside as Rayden stepped out into the hallway, the door to his room closing behind him with a soft click that felt like the end of an era.
He walked down the narrow stairs, the morning sun blinding as he stepped outside, the air heavy and humid.
The street was alive with people going about their day, and Rayden stood there with his bag and futon, feeling like a ghost watching the world move without him.
"The Grey Estate, huh…"
He had nowhere else to go.
Rayden took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of his bag.
"Guess I don't have a choice."
He started walking, each step heavy, as he began the journey toward the house he never wanted to live in, the place that would become his last option.
Rayden stood at the bus stop, the summer heat sticking his shirt to his back, clutching his bag and rolled-up futon like a snail carrying its shell. The world moved around him—cars honking, kids laughing, people talking on their phones—but all of it felt distant.
He checked his phone, seeing the last message from his mom.
"We'll send you the key and some money for food when you reach. Be careful, okay?"
The bus arrived with a hiss, and Rayden climbed aboard, finding a window seat. The air conditioner barely worked, but it was better than the sweltering outside. As the bus rumbled away from the city, Rayden pressed his forehead against the glass, watching the buildings give way to fields and trees.
"The Grey Estate, huh…"
His family's ancestral property on the outskirts of town, left empty for generations except for family storage. The only stories he'd heard were from drunk uncles at New Year gatherings, whispering about "noises at night" and "monsters under the floorboards."
Rayden used to laugh at them. Now he wasn't sure if he could.
It was late afternoon when the bus dropped him off at the end of a gravel road. Dust puffed up around his shoes as he walked, the cicadas screaming in the summer heat. The Grey Estate stood at the end of the path, tall and silent.
It wasn't a mansion, but it was big enough to feel empty. Weathered bricks, a rusting gate, and windows covered with old curtains that fluttered in the breeze, giving the illusion that someone was peeking through.
Rayden pulled out the old key his parents had mailed, turning it in the stiff lock. The door creaked open, the smell of dust and old wood rushing out to greet him.
"Home sweet… home."
He stepped inside, dropping his bag and futon near the entrance. The floor creaked under his weight, and every sound he made echoed in the empty halls.
The estate was cleaner than he expected, clearly maintained by the occasional caretaker, but it still felt abandoned. Old portraits lined the walls, grey-haired ancestors staring down at him with judging eyes.
Rayden found the kitchen and checked the fridge—empty. He opened a few cupboards, finding a half-empty bag of rice and some canned food his parents must have left.
"At least I won't starve."
He filled a pot with water, setting it on the gas stove, and pulled out the rice, cooking just enough to quiet his stomach. As he ate alone at the dusty table, the ticking of an old clock was the only sound.
That night, Rayden laid out his futon in what seemed like the smallest room, rolling it out near a window that let in the cool night breeze. The room was silent, and for a moment, it felt peaceful.
He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling him into sleep quickly.
Thunk.
Rayden's eyes shot open. He looked around, the room dark except for the moonlight.
Thunk… thud…
It was faint, but it was there. A dull, rhythmic noise, like something heavy shifting under the floorboards.
Rayden sat up, heart beating faster.
"Probably just the house settling," he whispered to himself.
Thud… thud… clang.
The sound grew louder, as if it was moving through the walls. A metallic clang, followed by something scraping against stone.
"What the hell…"
He stood up, pressing his ear to the wooden floor.
Thud…
It was directly below him.
Rayden stumbled back, eyes wide, the cold floor seeping through his bare feet. The noises stopped for a moment, leaving only the sound of his own breathing.
Then—
BOOM!
A loud crash echoed from below, shaking the floor. Dust fell from the ceiling, and Rayden stumbled, catching himself on the wall.
"What the hell is down there?"
The house fell silent again, leaving Rayden in the darkness, the echoes of the noise ringing in his ears.
He crawled back onto the futon, pulling the thin blanket over himself, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. The silence was worse than the noise, like the house was holding its breath, waiting.
Rayden didn't sleep for the rest of the night.