It should be annoying, should be scary, should make the hairs rise up on the back of my neck every night when the old boards of the house expand and shrink, changing size, thumps coming up the stairs, along the corridor, to my room or down in the kitchen.

It does quite the opposite.

It’s comforting to know the house is still there, breathing and creaking and thumping with age.

It’s nice to know the house is still breathing.

So yes, I should be afraid at night when it sounds like footsteps climb my stairs, when it sounds like someone’s in my kitchen, when it sounds like someone’s in my room, but I’m not, I like the reminder that my house is still breathing, living.