A Small Drabble

The house made all sorts of noises on its own. The doors ticked with slight movements, often sounding as though being tapped lightly. Things would crash against the walls outside with the wind, thank heavens it was neither dark nor raining.
The music that played from the small record player was scratchy and the volume low, better to hear anything that did not sound like the house itself. It echoed strangely in the empty room, sounding tinny and unbalanced.
Noises would echo through that room, the thumps of things outside, they seeped in and sounded closer, sudden but explainable things were frightening over the music, and it seemed to disappear as the noise was contemplated, the wind catching the gate?
It could have been anything...