It started small — the kind of things you convince yourself are nothing. A creak upstairs. A faint thud in the night. My keys not where I left them. I brushed it off at first — old houses make noise, I told myself.
But deep down, something felt wrong. Every night, I caught myself glancing toward the staircase, half-expecting to see a shadow that wasn’t mine.
Yesterday, I finally gave in to the fear and called the police. Two officers arrived, calm and professional, and combed through every room — closets, basement, even the crawlspace. When they came back empty-handed, I felt embarrassed. Maybe I really was imagining it.
Just as they were about to leave, one officer paused. “Ma’am,” he said gently, “have you noticed anything missing or out of place lately?”
The question made my stomach twist. I thought back to the strange details — the half-empty water bottle in the fridge I didn’t remember opening. The faint smell of cigarette smoke in the hallway, even though I didn’t smoke. The sound of slow footsteps above me when I knew I was home alone.
I told him everything. His face darkened. “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “I think you should stay somewhere else tonight. We’ll have someone check the attic.”
My breath caught in my throat. “The attic?” I whispered. “I never go up there.”
“That’s what worries me,” he said.
That night, I stayed at a friend’s house, though I barely slept. Around midnight, my phone rang. It was the same officer. His voice was calm but firm.
“Ma’am,” he said, “we found someone living in your attic. From what we can tell, he’s been there for months. You did the right thing calling us when you did.”
The room spun. I dropped the phone. The thought that I had been sleeping beneath a stranger — someone who had watched me, moved through my home — made my skin crawl.
They said he had set up a small space up there: a mattress, food wrappers, even a flashlight. I couldn’t bring myself to go see it.
From that day on, I promised myself one thing: I would always trust my instincts.
Because sometimes, the danger we sense isn’t in our imagination —
It’s right above our heads, waiting to be found.
