by uzwi

“Mornings go slowly, then the afternoon seems to rush away. I was besotted with this house. It was a love affair. Now I’m anxious and afraid again. I see every imperfection, every chip and dent. This morning I found dirt on the kitchen table. It wasn’t there the night before. It was the kind of dirt you find in a flower pot, dark, fibrous. My desk is out of true with the wall and two or three inches away from where I arranged it. That happened overnight. After we had been here three months I looked up in the bedroom and saw that the loft entrance was disarranged, just slightly open. The only conclusion I can come to is that someone else is living here with us.”