Over the past couple of weeks, Anna had noticed unsettling changes. The rug by the front door had been folded back on itself, with one edge tucked sharply under, forming a crisp triangle. A small side table in the living room had been shifted across the floor, now angled toward the window instead of the wall where it had always stood. A painting in the hallway - a small landscape of a lake they had bought on their honeymoon - had been tilted slightly, the frame no longer perfectly parallel to the wall. Each morning brought something new, each discovery leaving her chest tight and her mind spinning with questions she could not answer.


And there was the clock on the mantel. Every day, David would wind it, adjust the hands, and check the batteries. Every morning, it was back at 3:12, as though something in the house insisted it stay that way.


That night, she could not sleep. She lay beside David, her throat dry, watching him sleep. After a while, she rose quietly from the bed and went down the stairs toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. The kitchen light was on, although she was certain she had turned it off. Her pulse quickened. David had been sleeping next to her. It could not be him. She entered the room cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. And then, froze at the sight. Every chair in the dining area had been stacked neatly atop the table, balanced with unsettling precision. Shaken, she turned and went back to the bedroom, where David lay fast asleep, her mind struggling to make sense of what she had just seen.


The next morning, Anna sat at the kitchen table, still unsettled from the night before. David poured them both some coffee and settled into his chair across from her. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.


“About the chairs last night…” He paused, watching her closely. “I found them this morning stacked that way, yes. But… I actually saw you moving them last night. When you woke up and came downstairs, I followed quietly, watching from the top of the stairs. I saw you move the chairs, but I went back to bed and pretended to sleep when you returned - I didn’t want to startle you.”


Anna stared down at her coffee, tracing a finger along the rim of the cup. She tried to summon the memory, but found nothing. The doubt crept in quietly, a whisper at the edges of her mind, making her wonder if perhaps she had been forgetting things after all.


Over the following days, more unsettling disturbances appeared. A scarf she had left draped over a chair vanished, only to be found carefully folded on the stair banister the next morning. One of the dining chairs had been moved across the room, now facing the window as if it were watching the street outside. Even the books on the shelf seemed to have moved, their spines aligned differently than she remembered. One day, Anna’s earrings were gone, only to be found later on the windowsill, the clasp slightly bent on one of them. Worried she might be losing track of things, Anna began keeping a small notepad, jotting down each discovery as she found it. But one morning, the notepad itself was gone, making Anna wonder if she had only imagined keeping one.  


She began taking long walks in the forest, where nothing ever changed unless she moved it herself. The stillness there calmed her - trees stayed where they belonged, paths led where they always had, and stones remained unturned. It was a kind of order her house no longer offered. She hoped the air would clear her mind - anything to avoid staying indoors too long, in those quiet rooms filled with things she could no longer trust. David suggested she see their doctor, who spoke kindly and prescribed a mild sedative to help her sleep. The pills did help, though the nights still carried a strange stillness, as if the house were waiting for her to haunt her again..