my smart speaker started saying good morning at 4am.

i unplugged it. it said good morning again.

grandma's last words were: do not let them uncover the mirrors.

we kept every mirror in the house covered for a year.

i record myself sleeping to catch my sleep talking.

mostly it is nothing. some breathing.

the hotel gave me room 7. there is no room 7 on the floor plan.

the key worked anyway.

my brother drowned when we were nine.

yesterday my phone asked if i wanted to tag him in a photo.

the camera caught me sleepwalking at 2am.

i watch myself walk to the front door, unlock it, and go back to bed.

i found a door in my basement that was not there last week.

my landlord said that wall was filled with concrete in 1998.

every night at 3:07 the baby monitor picks up humming.

we do not have a baby. we bought the monitor used.

i woke up to my dog growling at the hallway.

i grabbed him and locked us both in the bathroom.

the babysitter texted: kids are asleep, i am heading out.

i wrote back: we do not have kids.

my daughter asked why i always check under her bed.

i told her it is to make sure she is safe.

Moonlight

is a fun site