I live alone in a small apartment, and every night I triple-check the locks. It’s a ritual—front door, balcony, windows, even the bathroom. Last week, I noticed something strange: my toothpaste was squeezed from the middle, even though I always press from the bottom. Then food started disappearing. Just small things, like slices of bread or an apple. I thought I was losing my mind. Two nights ago, I woke up to the sound of water running in the kitchen. I froze. My phone was charging across the room, so I just listened. The faucet turned off, then soft footsteps padded back toward the hall. My bedroom door creaked open, and I pretended to sleep, holding my breath. This morning, I finally checked the crawl space above my bathroom ceiling. There’s a nest of blankets, food wrappers… and a diary. It has today’s date. The last entry says: “He’s starting to notice.”