The New House Has Secrets

We moved into the old blue house three summers ago. Only in the last few months have I noticed the signs. It begins with small things, like a cabinet door in the kitchen swinging open on its own. My brother says it’s just the house settling, but I know better.

Sometimes, at night, I hear a soft humming from the living room. When I go to check, the room is empty and the sound stops. The temperature in my mother’s sewing room is always lower than anywhere else, a constant chill that makes you want to leave quickly.

The most unsettling thing happens in my own space. I will be reading on my bed and suddenly feel a weight dip the mattress beside me, as if someone has sat down. When I look, there is nothing there. I haven’t told my family about this part. I worry they will think my imagination is too active.

I can’t decide if our unseen resident is curious or lonely. The occurrences are never mean, just persistent. It seems most focused on the sewing room and my bedroom, as if those spaces hold a particular interest. The house has a new tenant, and we are just learning to live together.