For me, it was the rocking chair.
It hates an audience. Have you ever felt an unwelcome presence—physical, emotional, or spectral—in your own home? Tell me about it in the comments. Let’s leave the lights on together. Stay curious. Stay skeptical. And lock your spare room.
I live alone. I have no pets. I do not own a rocking chair. Yet, at 3:17 AM last Thursday, I heard the rhythmic creak... creak... creak from the corner of my spare bedroom. A room I had locked. the.uninvited
It arrives in the middle of your perfectly average Tuesday. Maybe it’s a text message from a number you deleted three years ago. Maybe it’s the sudden, heavy silence when you walk into your kitchen, where the air feels different—charged, like before a thunderstorm.
It doesn’t seep in through a cracked window or a drafty attic. This cold crawls up the back of your neck while you’re standing in a room that should be warm. It’s the cold that arrives with someone—except no one has opened the door. For me, it was the rocking chair
When I opened the door, the chair was still. The air was 72 degrees. But my breath fogged in front of my face.
So, I did something that felt ridiculous at 4:00 AM. I walked into the spare bedroom, looked at the empty rocking chair (which, for the record, I still cannot explain), and I said out loud: Tell me about it in the comments
We are taught to be good hosts. To offer a drink. To make space.