In the house, something is lurking. It must be a something and not someone because nobody could move without sound, run without breathing, and yet make its presence known.

She knows what it is. She knows and won't tell. She is, seemingly, the only one who can survive it.

A shudder runs down the street. It is out again, the neighbours all want to move but they cant, knowing no one will buy in this accursed neighbourhood.

A child's scream splits the air but gathers no attention. This has been going on for too long far too long, and the screaming of invisible children no longer bothers anyone. Except for one man. 

He is new. He bought. He ignored. He is scared. 

But he runs towards the sound, runs toward the house, runs towards the she, runs towards the it.

She expects him. It expects him, and the house expects him.

The street plays deaf, but it expects him to die.

The scream sounds again, and the man reaches the house. He pulls the door open and is greeted by nothing, so he continues. All the rooms are empty. Except all of them are occupied.

Then the man opens the last door and is greeted by the body of a child. Its turned away and is still until it turns around. Now it is the mans turn to scream. 

It is she, she is it and they are the house.