Set

He swung the hammer with all his might against the brick wall and it shuddered violently, but didn't give. He struck the wall again and again, then after a minute put the heavy tool down and collapsed on the floor, drawing a breath and wiping dust off his face. After the dust cleared he saw a giant crack appear, something shining from inside.

Scratching sounds could still be heard through the wall, like rats scurrying around or some long fingernails trying to dig inside the room.

The tenant of number 3 on Winding street got up and brushed off dust off his pants, then went to inspect the crack in the chimney.

When the man first moved in he immediately noticed the fireplace laid with a white brick, painted, long dead and unused. His buying agent mentioned, that since the house was built ages ago the fire was an essential tool to heat up your house. Nowadays it was a giant hot boiler in the attic, pumping the water down the pipes, making the living room something of a jungle - humid, suffocating and warm.

Shuffling in his bed the first few nights he laid there, his eyes open, looking over every dark silhouette inside the room, straining his ears for any sounds. The house was quiet, apart from what sounded like a very faint whisper.

A few weeks after moving the tenant met his neighbors - a nice couple, one of them - well built and dark-haired - introduced himself as Alex.

"What does your wife do?", the tenant inquired.

"Oh, Samantha? She's into video production lately. Samantha has been jumping from hobby to a hobby recently, now it's microphones, cameras, lenses and extensive length of inch-thick cables all over the room", Alex replied, setting a vase of biscuits in front of the man.

"Would you say you like movies?", Alex asked suddenly.

The man pondered the question for a second, then said:

"I haven't been to the cinema in a while. Why?"

"I wanted to introduce you to my wife so we can go to the movies together."

They sat there in an the silence before the tenant of number three excused himself and left to continue work around the house.

Since he moved in he already had time to paint the walls colors he wanted - light blue for the rooms upstairs, bright white in the living room to match the lovely brick work around the fireplace. One thing he couldn't get right, however, is one of the walls, where the paint didn't stick properly. Some things weren't quite like he wanted and he never found a house that was so reluctant to being renovated. The tenant had to sand some of the more grainy walls to make the paint stick.

There was also some sound that the man couldn't quite figure out. Some high-pitched noise in his ears, very faint, but incredibly annoying. He could only sleep with an audiobook of someone with a mellow voice whispering to him of adventures and heroes, of betrayals and loss, or murder and mystery.

The tenant of number three started to have nightmares, vivid dreams of being chased around by a spiders with a head of a cat. The mice size of a building once came to him and asked for a cigarette lighter. The walls of a house felt like they were collapsing on him.

One night he could not sleep at all, the faint whispering driving him insane. Straining his ears he followed the sound downstairs. It was definitely in the living room, and as he put his eyes to that damned fireplace he knew what he had to do.

And now he was looking through a crack in the chimney into a lens of a camera, and the lens was looking back at him from a brick-laid fireplace built into a wall, tape still rolling inside.

The man exited the house and walked over to the neighbor's.

After a minute of ringing the bell for a few minutes with no response he looked into a curtain-covered window. The living room was empty, a half drank cup of tea stood on a coffee table, cardboard boxes were piled. It looked like they were postal boxes, as if something was being shipped or received by his neighbors.

"Alex? Samantha?", he yelled again.

Not getting a response he let himself inside, then climbed upstairs, looking into every room, most of them half empty, shipping boxes lying on the floor and shelves.

The door of one of the rooms upstairs was slightly ajar and a soft blue light was coming out, along with what sounded like high-pitched hum. The man pushed the door open, then froze, seeing a a small space covered in the tiny screens, each one rolling a different scene. Alex sat in the swivel chair with his back turned towards the door.

Carefully peeking through the slightly open door he was studying the screens with a sinking feeling in he stomach. He saw himself painting the wall opposite the fireplace, soft brush strokes up and down. As he continued to watch the screens, transfixed, the tenant saw scenes of himself taking the shower, preparing food the kitchen, sleeping in his bedroom.

"Hey Sam, if you're back, can you bring the shipping boxes? I've prepared some more tapes."

The man slowly backed away, preparing to turn and rush down the stairs as he bumped into someone, then felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Do you like movies?", he heard a soft voice behind him.