HSP Develops Elaborate Mental Map of Every Creaky Floorboard in Home

After 18 months of meticulous research, trial and error, and what she describes as "profound personal sacrifice," local resident Emma Lindgren has successfully mapped every creaky floorboard in her 1,200-square-foot apartment.

"It started as survival," Lindgren, 31, explained while demonstrating her route from bedroom to kitchen—a winding path that involves hugging the wall near the bookshelf, a small hop over the threshold, and what can only be described as a diagonal shuffle past the coat closet. "Now it's an art form."

The map, which Lindgren keeps both digitally and as a hand-drawn backup "in case of phone death," categorizes each problematic board by severity:

• Red zones: Boards that emit sounds audible from the apartment above and below, triggering a chain reaction of neighbor awareness
• Orange zones: Moderate creaks that might wake a sleeping partner or startle a cat
• Yellow zones: Subtle groans detectable only by fellow HSPs and certain breeds of dog
• Green zones: Safe passage, though Lindgren notes these "can turn at any time, especially with humidity changes"

"The board by the bathroom door is the worst," she said, pointing to a section of hardwood she has circled in red and labeled with a small skull. "It doesn't just creak. It announces. It has opinions about the hour and will share them with the entire building."

Lindgren's partner, David Chen, initially found the behavior puzzling.

"The first time I saw her pressed against the wall at 3 AM, moving like a spy in a laser grid, I thought she was sleepwalking," Chen recalled. "Turns out she just needed water and didn't want to experience the psychological devastation of the hallway board."

Chen has since adopted a simplified version of the route, though he admits to occasionally "going rogue" and walking directly through the kitchen.

"I can feel her flinch from the bedroom when I do it," he said. "Even though the sound is barely audible to me, she hears it like a gunshot. She says the frequency is 'violent.' I don't know what that means, but I believe her."

Lindgren's mapping project has expanded beyond mere navigation. She now maintains a detailed log of how each board responds to different variables: temperature, time of day, sock versus bare feet, and emotional state.

"The board by the window creaks more when I'm anxious," she noted. "I don't know if that's real or if I just notice it more, but I've documented it either way."

The project has drawn interest from other HSPs in her building. Neighbor Marcus Webb has requested a consultation for his own unit.

"I've been stepping over the same spot in my hallway for six years," Webb said. "It never occurred to me to map the whole apartment. I thought suffering was just part of homeownership."

Lindgren has considered offering her services professionally but worries about the sensory demands of visiting unfamiliar homes.

"Every floor has its own language," she explained. "Learning a new one takes time, patience, and a willingness to stand very still in someone's hallway for extended periods. Not everyone is comfortable with that."

When asked whether she had considered simply fixing the creaky boards, Lindgren looked momentarily confused.

"Fix them?" she repeated. "And lose 18 months of research? Besides, I've grown attached to them. The creak by the refrigerator is basically a pet at this point. I'd miss it."

She paused, then added: "Though I would not miss the one by the bathroom. That one can go to hell."

At press time, Lindgren had discovered a new creak near the living room window and was seen standing motionless with a notebook, "waiting for it to reveal its full range."