For months, I felt our house was not entirely our own. My partner insisted it was just the old pipes and the wind, but I knew the sounds were different. Cabinets clicked shut without a hand to touch them, and floorboards sighed under no visible weight.
One afternoon, we planned to go out. My partner called to say they were on their way back. I was getting ready upstairs, brushing my hair, when I heard the front door push open and then shut. I called out, ‘I’ll be down in a minute!’ A soft rustle came from the kitchen, like a bag of groceries being set down. Then, the clear chime of the oven timer rang out.
But when I walked into the kitchen, it was empty. The room was silent, and I was completely alone.