She left the clinic feeling nervous but optimistic that she’d find the answer to these bizarre events. When the test results came in days later, every value was normal. Her memory was sharp. Her scans were clean. There was no neurological issue. That should’ve brought peace to Rose — but instead, it deepened the fear.
If it wasn’t her mind, then what was it? Rose wasn’t someone who scared easily. She didn’t believe in ghosts, didn’t indulge in horror. She believed in patterns, logic, probability. As a former data engineer, she trusted what could be measured and explained. But this—this didn’t have any logical explanation.
About six months into living in the house, the oddities intensified. Items she never touched appeared in the wrong place. Cupboard doors she’d never opened were ajar. A faint creak in the hallway when she was sure she was alone. Each event chipped away at her certainty.
She started documenting everything. Kept a notepad in her purse. Jotted down what she locked, what she turned off, what she touched. On milk cartons and cereal boxes, she marked levels with Sharpie lines. But even with all this, she’d come home to things moved. Her boxed food, always slightly depleted.