The black taxi pulled up with a soft screech in front of number 42 Prinsengracht. The Amsterdam sky, tinged a leaden gray, seemed to weigh down on the pointed rooftops of the houses lining the canal. For Tom, that dark brick building with disproportionately large windows was the trophy of his recent promotion; for Ana, it was a structure that seemed to watch them with an uncomfortable fixity.
"It’s perfect, isn't it?" Tom said, stepping out of the car with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, hiding the exhaustion of months of paperwork. "It has that historical feel we were looking for."
Ana climbed out of the vehicle, tightly holding little Laura’s hand. The girl, barely six years old, wasn't looking at the facade. Her eyes were fixed on the dark water of the canal, where the reflections of the houses seemed to distort like elongated faces beneath the surface.
"It’s cold, Mommy," Laura whispered, huddling into her mother’s wool coat.
"It’s just the north wind, honey," Ana replied, though she felt a shiver herself that had nothing to do with the weather.
As they opened the heavy oak door, they were greeted by the smell of old wood, candle wax, and something else—something metallic and rancid. The house was narrow, and the steep, winding spiral staircases disappeared into the gloom of the upper floors.
Shortly after, Elli arrived, the local nanny they had hired to help with the transition. She was a young woman with a lively gaze, but as she crossed the threshold, her step faltered.
"Beautiful house," Elli commented, though her voice sounded hollow. "Though these old buildings tend to hold too many echoes."
As the movers brought up the boxes, the family began to explore. Tom moved with energy, measuring spaces and planning where to set up his study. Ana, on the other hand, felt a tightening in her chest every time she entered a new room.
"It feels like the house is listening to us," Ana thought as she walked down the second-floor hallway.
In the room intended for Laura, the girl stopped dead in her tracks in front of a small service door at the base of the wall.
"Who lives in there, Elli?" the little girl asked, pointing to the decaying wood.
Elli crouched down, forcing a smile.
"No one, sweetie. It’s just for the pipes. In Amsterdam, houses are like puzzles."
However, when the nanny stood up, she noticed something that turned her blood cold: in the fine dust covering the floor near the small door, there weren't just the prints of Laura’s shoes, but also small marks, like long, thin fingers coming from inside the wall.
As evening fell, while Tom and Ana toasted with wine among stacked boxes, the sunlight suddenly vanished behind the buildings. At that moment, a violent slam echoed from the attic, followed by a hiss that ran through the pipes of the entire house.
The move was over, but the true inhabitants of the house were only just beginning to wake up.
