Chatty domicile

Here I sit at the dining table at midnight, tapping away on my little iPad keyboard. I should be working on my novel, except every few seconds I'm distracted: Something, somewhere in the house, keeps creaking and popping. I keep venturing into the dark living room, into the hallway, to find out what's so restless. But the cat's snoring. Squish's light is out. Felicia's asleep as well. The house, then. Hill House is talking to me, but I don't know what it's saying. Every word you're writing right now, maybe, what good is it, really? Shh, house, I'm just getting warmed up.