My older brother Kevin and I get along well. So well, that when we moved to our current house in Tomball, I voluntarily took the smallest room to give both of my siblings the optimal comfort.

Kevin, married and taking care of his 7-year-old stepdaughter, finally found an apartment close to our family home. This means that his room, with a walk-in closet and at least an extra four feet of space in width included, was mine for the taking.

I sat patiently playing my game, paying more attention to my brother who lifted box after box into the U-Haul; until they hopped in the truck, and were gone. I launched into action, sweeping, dusting and painting some bald spots in the lavender walls, then pasting some posters, which covered the three walls in the initial room, and the entirety of the closet.

But, something was off. Very off.

I am a loner at heart. I do pretty much everything alone unless I’m with my father, who at this time was helping my brother with the move.

To keep it short; the house was empty and I had an anxiety that puzzled me.  I found myself peeking around the corner every time I left a room and jumping at my own shadow. When all was said and done, checking every crevice for the boogey man and any stray flakes of dust; I crawled into my rickety bunk-desk combo bed and laid for a well- earned night’s sleep.

For those who have never slept on a bunk bed with a sibling, there is a distinct shift of weight as each foot and weight shifts from step to step up, which is exactly what I felt; as I slept on the top bunk. I was completely still. I focused on the jagged movements of the steps, which eventually stopped, but was enough to keep me awake the entire night.

I questioned my sister-in-law about it, and even my brother, who just nodded.

The remaining members of my family shake their head at my fears, but as the days passed, posters that were tacked to the wall now littered the floor, doors that were shut tightly are now cracked slightly, as if something – something – was watching.

Always watching…