“Dad! He’s under here!””

The sound of my daughter’s scream was the first thing that made me run.

Not because Lily screamed often. She didn’t. My seven-year-old was the kind of child who apologized when someone else bumped into her. She cried quietly when she was hurt and tried to be brave when she was scared.

So when I heard terror in her voice, I knew something was wrong.

I ran down the hallway and into our bright living room, expecting to find a broken toy, a nightmare, maybe a spider.

Instead, I found my daughter on her knees.

Her long braids fell over her shoulders as she clawed desperately at a loose wooden floorboard near the white rug. Her fingers were red, and tears streamed down her face.

“Lily!”” I shouted.

“What are you doing?””

She looked up at me, breathing hard.

“Dad,” she whispered.

“He’s under here.””

I froze.

“Who’s under there?””

Her eyes locked onto mine.

“Noah.””

For a second, the entire room felt silent.

Even the hum of the air conditioner seemed to disappear.

My son Noah had been missing for three days.

Three days of police searches. Three days of unanswered questions. Three days of staring at his empty bed and pretending I wasn’t falling apart.

And now my daughter was telling me he was underneath our living room floor.

I dropped beside her.

“Lily, look at me,” I said gently.

“Are you sure?””

She grabbed my arm.

“Dad, I heard him. I heard him calling me.””

My heart pounded.

Behind me, footsteps rushed across the floor.

Vanessa appeared in the doorway.

My wife looked completely different from the woman I knew. Her beige pantsuit was wrinkled, her hair was messy, and fear was written all over her face.

“What happened?”” she asked.

Lily pointed at the floor.

“Noah is under there.””

Vanessa stopped moving.

Just for a moment.

But I saw it.

A flash of something crossed her face.

Not confusion.

Not disbelief.

Fear.

Then she quickly shook her head.

“Marcus,” she said, forcing calm into her voice.

“She’s imagining things.””

I looked at her.

“What?””

Vanessa stepped closer.

“She’s been through a lot. We all have. Lily misses her brother. She wants him to be here.””

Lily started crying harder.

“I’m not lying!””

I put my hand on her shoulder.

“I know.””

Vanessa’s expression changed.

“Marcus, don’t do this.””

“Do what?””

“Destroy the floor because our daughter had a nightmare.””

I stared at the loose board beneath us.

Then I heard it.

A sound so faint I almost convinced myself I imagined it.

Knock.

My blood turned cold.

Everyone heard it.

Lily covered her mouth.

Vanessa went completely still.

“Dad…” Lily whispered.

Another knock came.

Three slow taps.

From beneath the floor.

I pressed my palm against the wood.

“Noah?””

For several seconds, there was nothing.

Then—

Knock.

Vanessa stepped backward.

“Marcus,” she said quietly.

I looked at her.

“Why are you scared?””

She didn’t answer.

That was when I knew something was wrong.

I grabbed the damaged floorboard and pulled.

The wood creaked.

Vanessa rushed forward.

“Stop!””

But I had already started tearing it open.

And beneath our beautiful living room floor was a darkness that should not have been there.

A hidden space.

A crawlspace.

Lily screamed my name.

And from somewhere below us, a small voice whispered one word.

“Dad…”

I stared into the darkness.

Because I recognized that voice.

It was my son.

But before I could reach down, Vanessa grabbed my shoulder and whispered something that made my entire body go cold.

“Marcus… you don’t know what you’re going to find.””