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I remember when I was young, about 10 years old, my ADD friend who lived down the street would invite me to his house. Every time I came up to his room, I noticed that he had the strangest tear in his wall paper. No matter what, his family didn't even bother to see what it was, let alone fix it.
On one of our sleepovers, I asked him what it was. "What's what?" he asked. "The tear in the wall." He turned to face it, his eyes showing sudden distress, and said, "Don't talk about it here. My parents don't like it when you do." I'd never been so disturbed before in my life, so I had my parents pick me up to go home. The next day at school, I wanted to know why he was so secretive. "It's the ear." he told me. "My walls have ears." I was a bit confused, but at the same time entertained by his statement, even though he says this kind of thing all the time, possibly because of his mental disabilities. "That's because walls don't have ears, don't be so silly." He was a bit nervous for a second, and said, "Sometimes when I go to sleep, I see it twitch, like it's trying to hear something. I can show you if you want. Ask your mom and dad whether you can have a sleepover."
That night, we sat watching the tear for hours on end. It never moved.
That was 20 years ago, and now I'm married and have a 10-year-old son. But this is when it gets strange. One day, when I was putting him to sleep, he asked, "Daddy, why are the walls trying to listen to my dreams?" I was shocked. I looked at the wall next to me and noticed an ear-shaped tear in the wallpaper. "How...what...I never..." I was cut off by my son. "Goodnight, Daddy."
I sat with him for several moments, staring at the crack the exact same way I did at my friend's house as a child. I swear every couple seconds it twitched, but I couldn't care less.
2 hours later, my son began screaming at the top of his lungs. I ran into his room with my wife and turned on the lights. He was against the wall next to his bed, shivering and looking at the tear. I noticed it was slightly larger than it was before. In a frightened tone, my son said, "It was hearing me! Listening to me! It...It..."
I don't remember what else happened. My son slept with us, afraid of the "ear in the wall". I was scared to death: the very same tear in the wall had come back to haunt me. It barely seemed possible.
Later the morning, my wife and son asleep, I sat up and let the warm sun rays dapple my skin in warmth. I turned, and jumped at the tear in the wall. I looked closely, and there were two. The same ear-shaped tears had somehow appeared in my bedroom. Not only that, it was twitching, as if eager to listen to what I had to say. My wife and son woke up from my commotion, and had the same reaction as I.
We moved through the house, discovering each room had a pair of ears. Not only that, but there were veins in our walls, and they moved as if they were breathing.
We moved out that very day, and about a year later it was bought by strangers who just moved in. They kept complaining about small, ear-like cracks and tears in the wall. Listening. Listening to their every move.
Written by Auserofepicfeelness
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