I am so cold. Toes are turning white, nose is starting to run. The storm outside this mansion is ravaging. Tree limbs are hitting the bricks, statues are tumbling in the garden, and I wouldn’t doubt the little fences surrounding the flowers have collapsed. Why I chose to house-sit for my parents is beyond me.

There aren’t many good memories associated with this house and land. We moved here when I was a young adult, and for that I am thankful. Moved out the first chance I had.

It was a strange time for all of us. Even before buying the place we got weird vibes being on the property. This isn’t some 200 year old mansion you’d expect to be haunted by ghosts; It was a fairly new build. I think it had only been lived in for five years before going on the market. My mom and dad sensed something about this place but found it to be quirky. Still do, actually. Us kids never saw it that way.

Strangeness wasn’t limited to feelings. Occurrences were numerous. Some seemed insignificant, like always finding what you’d be looking for on your first attempt. I can recall helping my mom file her court case papers in the large filing cabinets and my finger or my eyes often landed on the file tab I needed within a second of pulling the drawer open. One might think nothing of it, but when it happens all the time? It’s a little skeptical to be chance.

Same thing happened in the library. During the hot summers when the sun would burn you as soon as you stepped foot outside, we would sometimes finish a book in a day. Despite the vastness of our wall to wall collection with no rhyme nor reason to where the books were placed, we almost always found what we were looking for right away.

Then there was the trouble with misplaced items. A remote or bottle of water would be set down and left alone, then seemingly vanish when the user went back to pick it up. You could be so certain you put it right there, but you’d be staring at an empty chair or clear end table. Later in the day, or sometimes the following day, the missing item would be exactly where you knew you left it. We’d all grill each other, “Why were you hiding the remote?!” and the answer was always that nobody was hiding anything.

Sometimes things would disappear and never show up again. There was a time when I was up in my little sister’s room and she wanted to share a story she had written. She was in her twin bed and scooted over so I could sit with her. The pen at her side rolled to the floor as she moved. She reached between the bed and the wall but couldn’t reach the pen. I moved the bed away from the wall and we were dumbfounded when we didn’t see the pen. There was no vent for it to fall into, and there definitely wasn’t a gap between the carpet and floorboard. We checked under the bed sheets just to cover all our bases. Still no pen.

I’m seeing faces appear on the large windows, faces put there by the rain that are only visible when lightning momentarily brightens the sky. I tried reading, but my mind kept wandering.

After seeing one too many faces, I’ve decided to enter the kitchen. The pantry and refrigerator are full, but nothing looks good. I guess I just needed to move.

Looking out towards the garden of trees, I see a large one crack and fall over. There is no sound. I leave the room.

A feeling causes me to stop at the door to the basement. I daren’t go down.

I head to my old room. It’s now a collection of items waiting to be sold at a yard sale. Old games, movies, toys, and furniture are sitting patiently. There’s an electronic game at the top of a box of other games. I turn it on. The menu of levels is scrolled through and level 6 is selected without me ever pushing a button. I turn it off. Let’s see what’s in the closet.

The door doesn’t slide like it should. One more attempt causes it to open with ease. Nothing was blocking the track. The closet is empty save a couple yard sale signs. I leave the room.

Back in the living room. I’m covered nose to toes in the biggest blanket we have. Of course we have oversize portraits of people we don’t know from centuries ago hanging here. Of course we do. My parents thought it added to the quirkiness. Us kids hated them. Still do. They’re looking at me now. I’m suddenly afraid to look away from one in particular. Afraid of what?

A lightning strike snaps me out of my capture. Four more nights and I’ll be gone from this place, back to somewhere normal.

I go to the bathroom. Nothing weird there (this time).

I go to one of my brother’s room. It’s inexplicably drafty.

I go to the library. There’s a heavy feeling. I leave the room.

Electricity flickers but stays on. That TV’s on now. I have it on some late night talk show. Several times I correctly guess which commercial will come on next. I doze off.

Lightning wakes me and the TV is off, but the lights are still on. I go to my parents’ room to sleep.

The room is too large. Something about the size gives it the feeling of always being occupied by something. The fireplace is making noises thanks to the storm. I turn on some music and try to sleep with my headphones on. With over 800 songs on my playlist, it should be impossible to guess what songs are coming up, yet I correctly guess the next song more than once.

Sleep takes me precisely when I want it to. The faces in the windows watch over me. The house is silent as the storm rages on.