Please Leave by 11:47

Every night at exactly 11:47, the house made a sound like someone clearing their throat.

Not a cough. Not a creak. A deliberate ahem—polite, almost impatient. At first,

Noah thought it was the pipes. Old houses complain, his mom said. But pipes didn’t

wait for the same minute every night. Pipes didn’t stop the moment he sat up in bed.

The fourth night, he tested it. At 11:46, he stayed perfectly still,

holding his breath. 11:47. Ahem. It came from the hallway.

Noah didn’t move. Neither did the sound. They waited on each other,

like two people pretending not to notice the other was there. Finally,