I have OCD. Every night, before I go to sleep, I check things.
I check the refrigerator, from top to bottom. There can’t be any candy or other tempting things on the top shelf, because my kids could climb on the shelves and topple the fridge on themselves and die. But there can’t be any dangerous things on the lower shelves, like plastic produce bags, because they could suffocate on those.
I check all 12 outlets downstairs. Each one has to be covered with an outlet cover. There also can’t be anything plugged in, because that could cause a fire at night. And my kids could strangle on them.
I remove all cups of water. Things can fall in them overnight. They get dirty. If the kids drink a cup left out overnight, they could choke or get sick. The only cup of water I leave out is one by my 5 year old’s bedside, in case he gets thirsty in the middle of the night. I shine a flashlight in it and check it before I go to sleep.
I check all the knives. They can’t be in the dishwasher because my kids could get them. They can’t be in the drawer either. They can’t be in a cabinet, though, because they could fall on someone. I usually push them to the very back of the cabinet, behind something, so they can’t fall.
And then I take a photo.
That’s right. I take a photo of every single thing I mentioned, plus about twenty other things. If you scrolled through my phone right now, 90% of the photos would be locked doors, baby gates, outlets, knives…
Does this sound exhausting? It is. The whole process takes me about an hour. My husband thinks it’s a huge waste of time.
But apparently, I’m not doing enough. Because Friday morning, I woke up to find one of the knives out.
Well, it wasn’t “out.” But it was in the middle of the cabinet shelf, instead of pushed behind the cereal boxes. That was not where I left it.
“Evan! Did you move the knives?!”
He poked his head out of the family room. “No. Why?”
“It’s not in the right place.”
I checked the knives last night. I knew I did. And yet… when I checked the photos on my phone, there wasn’t a photo of the knives.
Did I actually forget?
I was sleep-deprived. My 2-year-old had been waking up consistently at 5 AM this week. Maybe I really had just forgotten.
Over the next few days, though, more weird things happened. For example—I have two baby locks on the closet door. I always lock both, so that if one fails the kids still can’t get in. On Monday morning, however, I found one of them unlocked.
Just one.
Which was weird, because if someone had opened the closet and forgotten to lock it… both would be unlocked.
On Tuesday morning, I found a pudding cup on the top shelf of the fridge. There were also other things out of place in the fridge. Looked like someone had gone through the entire fridge, messing everything up.
But, again, I couldn’t be sure, because the photo was missing.
On Wednesday morning, I found the attic door ajar. “Evan!” I shouted. “Do not leave the attic door open!” A few years ago we had bats up there. We hadn’t been up there since then, and it was likely there were more bats. With rabies. We were all going to get rabies because my husband couldn’t follow a simple set of rules.
But Evan just shook his head. “I haven’t been up in the attic,” he said, shrugging.
And then there was Thursday.
On Thursday morning, I found a single outlet cover missing from the living room.
No one even uses that outlet. It’s in an awkward place by the front door. It made no sense for it to be missing.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled back through the photos. But the photo of the outlet was gone. Just like the photo of the knife and the closet and the fridge and the attic.
Had I really forgotten to check those things? My OCD is pretty severe. The last time I forgot to check something on the list was when I had COVID. And it only happened once—not so many days in a row.
“Is something wrong?” Evan asked, as we made breakfast.
“Huh?”
“You’re so quiet. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I…” I trailed off. “Just so tired lately.”
“I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I love you. See you tonight, okay?”
That night, I spent almost an hour and a half checking things. I took more than sixty photos, and then I reviewed them, making sure I’d checked everything on my list. I wouldn’t sleep otherwise. By the time I got in bed, it was almost midnight, and Evan was already asleep.
I knew I’d done a good job.
Which is why I nearly fainted when I found a cup of water on the kitchen table.
It was just sitting there. In the dead center of the table. In a plastic Hulk cup I didn’t even remember using yesterday.
I stood there. Frozen. My heart pounding in my chest.
I checked everything last night.
There’s no way.
No way.
Unless my son got it in the middle of the night? But he’s too short to use the faucet without the stepping stool. (Which I keep in the closet because if it’s out he could stand on it, topple into the sink, and drown.)
I searched through my photos. Technically, I hadn’t taken a photo of the kitchen table itself. But still… I’m sure I checked for cups and dumped them all. I’m sure.
That night, I checked things even more thoroughly. Exhausted, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Something woke me with a start.
I looked at my phone. 1 AM. I rolled over—and then I froze.
I heard footsteps downstairs.
Slow, methodical footsteps, traveling through the house. And then the realization hit me. All the pieces came together in horrible clarity in my head. Oh God. What if… someone’s been living in the house?
Living in the attic?
Moving our things? Eating our food?
I held my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. It was crazy, but—it made sense. The attic, slightly open… what if someone was living up there? We hadn’t been up there in years. What if they were coming downstairs while we slept, eating food from our fridge, drinking out of our cups, maybe even plugging in their phone to charge?
“Evan—”
My breath caught in my throat.
He wasn’t in bed.
I scanned the dark room. The door to our bedroom hung slightly ajar. “Evan?” I whispered. No response.
I forced myself out of bed and stepped out into the dark hallway. No one there. Then I crept down the stairs, going as slowly as possible so the wood wouldn’t creak.
Then I saw him—and all the blood drained out of my face.
Evan was crouched in the living room.
Crouched over an outlet.
My hand clapped over my mouth. I stared, in horror, as he removed the outlet cover. As it clattered to the floor. As he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.
I backed up the stairs. Praying he wouldn’t see me. I ducked into the bedroom and pulled the covers over me, my heart pounding.
Evan…
It’s him.
What kind of fucked-up game is he playing?
His shadowy silhouette stepped into the doorway. The bed creaked as he joined me in bed. I held my breath, staring at the wall, heart pounding in my chest. Motion appeared in my vision and I flinched—but he was only reaching over me, taking my phone off the nightstand.
I watched over his shoulder as he selected my photo of the outlet—and then deleted it.
I heard a soft laugh escape from his lips.
Then he put my phone back on the nightstand, rolled over, and went to sleep.
It’s nearly dawn now. I haven’t slept a wink with that monster sleeping next to me. I’ve just been staring at the wall, trying to form a plan.
Trying to figure out how to get away from him in one piece.
Because whatever fucked-up game he’s playing here—
I know it doesn’t end well for me.