The layout of this house is abnormal, and David also noticed something wrong.

We walked out of the bedroom together, observing the wall that separates the bedroom from the adjacent room. The room next to the bedroom is a study, and the wall between them is unusually thick. The thickness of a load-bearing wall is generally between 160-240 millimeters, but this wall is at least 1000 millimeters thick, almost 1 meter. There is no need for a load-bearing wall to be this thick, and a non-load-bearing wall certainly wouldn’t be.

This wall takes up one-third of the bedroom’s space, and conveniently, a wardrobe is placed against this wall, covering it. I quickly returned to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe doors, only to find that all the clothes had been removed. It seems the buyer has no intention of returning to live here.

These large wardrobes are usually custom-made, with workers bringing the materials piece by piece before assembling them into a complete wardrobe. Additionally, the back panel of the wardrobe is glued to the wall with specialized adhesive, making it extremely secure. It can’t be moved; it would have to be dismantled.

This wardrobe is made of solid wood, and the boards are thick, but since I’m not knowledgeable about furniture, I can’t tell what kind of wood it is. I tapped on the boards here and there—they felt very sturdy. But when I reached out to touch the back panel, I suddenly sensed something unusual.

“Johnny, you find something wrong?” David quickly asked when he saw my expression change.

I didn’t answer and instead pressed hard on the back panel. To my surprise, the panel gave way, breaking under the pressure, revealing the wood shavings inside.

“Damn it, Johnny, you broke the wardrobe! You’ll have to pay for it!” Barry and Owen still hadn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation.

But David and I instantly turned pale, cold sweat running down our faces. Something inside that wall had seeped out, corroding the wardrobe’s back panel. As for what it was, I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t dare to say it out loud. I feared this might turn into something big, maybe even involving the police.

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David immediately took out his phone and contacted the buyer, telling him to come over right away. He didn’t say much on the phone, only mentioning that they needed to discuss returning the house. The buyer, of course, was eager and said he’d be there immediately.

About an hour later, the buyer arrived. His name is Mr. Smith, a man in his fifties. I greeted him as Mr. Smith. He was startled when he saw us holding hammers and crowbars.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Mr. Smith, let me ask you something first.” I led him to the bedroom and pointed at the wardrobe. “This wardrobe was already here when you bought the house, right?”

Mr. Smith replied, “Yes, it was here when you showed me the house.”

I said, “If I smash this wardrobe now, you won’t ask me for compensation, will you?”

Mr. Smith’s eyes widened. “Smash it? Why would you smash it when it’s perfectly fine?”

I glanced at David and saw him nod before saying, “There might be a body hidden in the wall behind this wardrobe.”

As soon as I said this, Mr. Smith froze in place, too shocked to speak. Seeing that he wasn’t stopping us, I had Barry and Owen start tearing down the wardrobe’s back panel. The corrosion was so severe that it crumbled with just a little force.

When the panel collapsed, the true appearance of the wall was revealed. The room was filled with gasps of shock, followed by Mr. Smith’s scream. We all recoiled in fear, dropping the tools we were holding.

The wall behind the wardrobe was originally painted with white latex paint, but now the paint and plaster had swollen up as if soaked in water. The swollen areas happened to outline the shape of a human figure.

There really was a body hidden inside this wall. Someone had been murdered in this room, and then a wall was built to seal the body in cement. The wall was painted over, and a custom wardrobe was installed to cover it.

But over the years, the body decayed, and fluids seeped out from inside the wall, outlining the human shape and corroding the wardrobe’s back panel. It turns out that Mr. Smith wasn’t mentally unstable; the problem was with the room all along. Someone really had been watching him, always watching him.

David swallowed nervously, gripping my shoulder tightly. “Johnny, call the police.”

With trembling hands, I took out my phone and quickly dialed 911.