I Think There’s Something in My House and I’m Not Sure It’s Paranoia Anymore — Part 2

I was frozen after what I had just seen. It was the house sitter, lying on top of the dining table. I could barely recognize him because of his uniform—everything else looked distorted and wrong.

I didn’t understand why he hadn’t screamed or given any sign, even though I had been asleep. I wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway. Slowly, I approached, trying to regain control of myself. Next to him, there was a note. It said: “Do you still think it’s paranoia?”

My body went cold. At least now I knew something was real. I pressed myself against the wall, feeling it was the safest spot because I could only see forward, and nothing was behind me.

That’s when I saw them: hands on the stairs. I barely caught a glimpse. They looked scratched and broken, with claws. I was terrified. That thing was in my house. My mind screamed at me not to go upstairs, to call the police—but how could I explain this? They would think I did it. I had no choice but to go up and investigate.

I noticed the same drops again, but this time I realized it was saliva—surely from that thing. Then I saw my shark drawings scattered across the floor. Drawing sharks was something I loved, but now the papers were torn and distorted, covered with strange symbols.

When I entered my room, the closet immediately made me uneasy. I opened it slowly—nothing. I turned around, and that thing disappeared right at the doorway. I was terrified, fully aware that this might actually be real.

I grabbed my car keys and drove toward the store. That thing was on the street. It was extremely tall, its body dark, hands and feet clawed. Its eyes were white. I accidentally drove over it without realizing. I didn’t want to check what had happened until I got to the store.

I needed to buy supplies, make a plan. The cashier asked: “Good evening. What can I get you?” I was about to answer when I noticed him transform. His body grew taller, darker, and claws began forming from his hands. I knew what it meant. I ran.

I got into my car, but the thing appeared in the rearview mirror inside the store. I looked again—it was in the back seat. When I turned, it was back on the street. Everything was so confusing. Suddenly, something grabbed my shoulder. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was that same hand—wet, cold, claws pressing against me without piercing. A voice whispered: “Do you still think it’s paranoia?”

I almost crashed into a pole but managed to swerve. I parked and thought about where to go next. Then it occurred to me—my friend. He would help.

I drove to his house and rang the doorbell. No answer. I rang again, and finally, he opened the door. I was starting to panic. “There’s no time,” I said. “We need a plan, food, water, and weapons.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “This isn’t a joke,” I insisted. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright. If this thing is real… we’ll deal with it. But if we don’t know where its heart is, it’ll be difficult.” For a moment, I felt safer. Until it happened again. A cold, wet hand grabbed my shoulder. I didn’t see it—but I knew it was the same hand. Then the voice whispered: “If you tell him more… I’ll kill him.” My friend hadn’t noticed anything. He just stared at me.

“You look pale… are you okay?” he asked. My heart was racing. I forced out the words: “Just… don’t… move.”