When Lauren gets home after her shift at the hospital, she expects to have a quiet evening with her family. Instead, she finds strange things in her home, like the mugs turned upside down, the silverware rearranged, and other strange occurrences…
Yesterday was supposed to be any old regular day. As a nurse, and after finishing a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital, all I wanted was a night of peace and a long bath. While driving home, I had visions of coming home, making a cup of tea, and relaxing a bit before diving into the chaos of dinner and bedtime with the kids.
But what I walked into completely shattered my sense of safety.
The house was eerily quiet when I got home. My husband was out with the kids for their respective sports practices, so I looked forward to a bit of solitude before the noise began when the kids got home.
I dropped my bag on the counter and put the kettle on while reaching for the cabinet to grab my favorite mug. It was a cute one that Summer, my daughter, had gotten me with “World’s Okay-est Mom” printed on it.
But when I opened the cabinet, I froze.
“What the heck is this?” I muttered.
All of my mugs were turned upside down. Every single one of them was perfectly lined up in the cabinet like little soldiers on parade. I stood there while the kettle boiled, dumbfounded.
Was this some kind of prank? Had Hank decided to mess with me? But that wasn’t his kind of thing; he wasn’t the type of person to prank me.
But then again, we’ve never arranged our dishes this way.
“Actually, Lauren…” I reminded myself.
There was just one other time when I had seen the same thing before.
“Darn it,” I said, suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings.
Feeling a growing unease, I decided to inspect the rest of the kitchen.
The silverware drawer was open, with the forks and knives rearranged neatly. The spice rack was in perfect alphabetical order, with every bottle gleaming.
Working the hours I did, I could say with absolute certainty that it wasn’t my doing.
A chill ran down my spine.
My instincts screamed that something was wrong, so I grabbed my phone from the counter and began dialing Hank’s number.
“Pick up, pick up,” I muttered.
As I waited for him to pick up, I noticed a small piece of paper wedged between the coffee machine and the sugar jar. It looked hastily placed, almost like an afterthought. It was a plain, crumpled sheet of paper with handwriting that I didn’t recognize.
You’ll thank me later – you needed this.
My heart was pounding. The note seemed so harmless and yet so unsettling. Finally, Hank answered the call.
“Stay on the phone with me, Hank,” I pleaded. My voice was shaky, giving away my fear. “I’m going to check the rest of the house.”
“Lauren? What’s going on? What are you talking about?” Hank asked.
I whispered what I had walked into, the words coming out furiously.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “I’ll be home with the kids soon, darling. Be careful. I’ll stay on the phone with you.”
I heard my husband call the kids urgently.
“We need to get home quickly, Mom needs us,” he said. “She’s going to stay on the phone with us, so don’t connect your phones to the Bluetooth for music.”
Hearing their voices comforted me. I decided to check the rest of the house. The living room was untouched, but the bathroom was a different story.
Towels were folded perfectly, the toothbrushes were lined up in their holders, and the toiletries were sorted by size. And the mirror was spotless, which was a big change for us.
“This is so creepy,” I muttered into the phone, telling Hank what I’d walked into.
“Who would do something like that? Do you think it’s old Winslow again? Or did you ask the helper to come around today?” Hank asked.
“No, she moved to a different state last month, Hank. She hasn’t been around for a while,” I replied tensely.
That’s when I heard a noise from my son’s bedroom. My heart nearly stopped. I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible.
But when I opened the door, nothing seemed out of place, but I noticed the closet door was slightly ajar.
I took a deep breath, my knees weak, and pulled it open, half-expecting something or someone to jump out at me.
But it was empty.
Except for the clothes that had been rearranged and sorted by color. I backed away slowly, wanting to make my way through the rest of the house. That’s when I heard the faint sound of keys jangling, followed by the soft click of the front door opening.
I gasped.
“What? What happened?”
“Someone’s here,” I whispered into the phone.
“Get out of there, now!” Hank exclaimed, his voice urgent.
My blood ran cold. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, my son’s baseball bat, and prepared to defend myself. As I rounded the corner, I came face to face with our landlady, Mrs. Winslow. Her eyes widened with surprise as she saw me, clearly not expecting anyone to be at home.
“Oh, hello, Lauren dear,” she said with a nonchalant smile as if she hadn’t just been caught breaking into my apartment.
“I was just tidying up a bit. You know, you really should organize your kitchen more efficiently.”
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