I found a Recording on My Computer

I found the recording while going through old files on my computer.

The weird part was that I had no idea where it came from.

It was an audio file sitting in a folder I hadn’t opened in years. The file name was just a random string of numbers, and the date showed it was created when I was still living with my parents.

At first, I assumed it was some old voice memo.

I almost deleted it.

Then I heard my own voice.

“Is anyone there?”

I froze.

I recognized the voice immediately.

It was me.

The recording was from inside my childhood bedroom.

The problem was, I never remembered making it.

I listened again.

The first few seconds were normal. You could hear my old room, the sound of the fan spinning, cars passing outside.

Then my younger voice spoke.

“Hello?”

A few seconds passed.

Then another voice answered.

“Don’t tell them I’m here.”

I stopped the recording.

I thought maybe it was a friend playing a prank or something from an old video.

But the more I listened, the stranger it became.

The voice in the background was quiet, almost like it was whispering from far away.

The next part caught my attention.

My younger self asked, “Who are you?”

There was a long pause.

Then the voice replied.

“You already know me.”

I immediately checked the file details.

The recording was created at 2:43 AM.

I never stayed awake that late as a kid.

Especially not alone in my room.

I called my mom and asked if she remembered anything strange happening around that time.

She went quiet.

Then she asked me why I was asking.

I told her about the recording.

She didn’t sound surprised.

She sounded scared.

She told me that when I was around eight years old, I started refusing to sleep in my room. I would tell them that someone was talking to me at night.

They assumed it was a nightmare.

One night, my mom said she checked on me after hearing me talking.

She found me sitting on my bed facing the corner of the room.

She asked who I was talking to.

According to her, I looked confused and said,

“The person who lives behind the wall.”

I laughed when she told me.

Until I remembered something.

There was a small section of my bedroom wall that always looked different.

A patch where the paint never matched.

I had completely forgotten about it.

Curious, I visited my parents' house and looked at the wall again.

The patch was still there.

Except now there was a small crack running down the middle.

I pressed my ear against it.

For a few seconds, I heard nothing.

Then I heard a faint sound.

A tapping.

Three slow taps.

I stepped back.

Because the tapping came from the other side.

And it matched the exact rhythm from the recording.