I rented a room from a kind elderly lady, but what I found in the fridge was enough to make me leave immediately. The sight was unsettling and made me rethink my stay.

I rented a room from a kind elderly lady named Mrs. Wilkind. The ad promised privacy and a low price — an ideal solution for me at a time when life felt too complicated. My brother Tommy lived with my aunt, while I was busy studying and working, trying to make ends meet. When I saw the ad, I felt like this was my chance. The house, filled with antiques, cozy wallpaper, and a lavender scent, seemed perfect.

When I met Mrs. Wilkind, she gave me the impression of a kind, attentive woman. Her hair was neatly done, and she welcomed me with a warm smile, asking about every detail of my life. I told her about my brother, who lived with our aunt, and our deceased parents. She nodded, asking questions as if she was listening carefully, but there was something in her gaze that made me uneasy.

As soon as I moved in, the atmosphere in the house began to feel strange. Everything seemed out of a fairy tale — comfortable rooms, floral wallpaper, vintage rugs. But the longer I stayed, the more I felt like a prisoner. It seemed as though someone was constantly watching me. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would pass.

One morning, as I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a list of «House Rules» stuck to the refrigerator. Initially, I thought it was a mere formality, but as I read, I began to feel uncomfortable. No keys were allowed; even my own room had to remain open. Everything, from toiletries to food, was under Mrs. Wilkind’s control. The only bathroom was accessible only by request, and the key had to be returned immediately. I had to leave the house every Sunday from 10 AM to 4 PM for «ladies’ afternoon tea.» Cooking without permission was prohibited, and phone calls were limited to 30 minutes per day. The most surprising rule was that Mrs. Wilkind could enter my room at any time. There was no privacy.

My heart tightened. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t so important, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t safe there. When I returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Wilkind smiled at me, but there was a coldness in her eyes. When I asked her about the strict rules, she explained they were to maintain order and that I should get used to them. Each moment, her smile became more insistent and strange.

The next morning, I decided to test what would happen if I broke one of the rules. As I quietly closed the door to my room, I felt the air in the house grow tense. I heard Mrs. Wilkind’s footsteps echo in the silence, her gaze following me. At that moment, I realized I couldn’t stay there any longer. I quickly packed my things, but just as I reached the door, her voice stopped me. She firmly reminded me that everything had to be done according to the rules or there would be consequences.

I rushed to gather my belongings and headed for the door, but just before I left, her stare froze me in place. She told me that if I left, I had to understand that there was always «something worth discussing.» It felt like a threat, and I understood there was no point in arguing. I left, feeling there was something deeply wrong in that house. My body was tense, and fear crept in.

As I stepped outside, I felt a sense of relief but no idea of what to do next. I couldn’t return home — my responsibilities toward my brother still weighed heavily on me. Just then, I was interrupted by a conversation with a young man named Ethan, who approached me while I sat on a park bench. He offered me coffee and cake, and despite my troubled state, I accepted.

Ethan was kind, listening as I shared what had happened. He said he had noticed something similar before — the feeling of running from something hidden. He warned me that if Mrs. Wilkind controlled so much of my life, there were likely darker intentions behind it than simply maintaining «order.»

That day, Ethan offered to help me move out. Though I had doubts, I accepted. He became my friend and support as I began to rebuild my life. My work at the café, my new apartment — everything felt easier than living under Mrs. Wilkind’s constant surveillance. Yet, even in my new home, sometimes it felt like something was following me. And though I tried not to think about the old house, at night, I still felt eyes watching me.

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