Some creatures come bearing joy. Others bring mayhem. Mine arrived and immediately began reorganizing the house—emotionally and otherwise. This week, he unearthed a long-forgotten tiki relic, possibly cursed (definitely ceramic), and claimed it as his own. I haven’t questioned his intentions. Mostly because he hasn’t blinked in four days.
Day 29
The silence between us hasn’t broken but I think we’re beginning to understand one another. He has taken to digging through boxes of items yet to be placed, or stored, or donated, or whatever it is one does with excess stuff. At first I think it was just a way to pass the time and get to know his surroundings. Perhaps his captors.
Last night he pulled something out.
Left something out.
The skull of our enemy.
Day 31
This morning I found the skull on the sofa.
Centered perfectly on the tray I use as a side table, on the cushion next to me.
Not where I left it.
Not how I left it.
It faced inward—toward the sofa. Toward us.
A fragile skull of our enemies, repurposed from a fishbowl tiki drink.
I didn’t move it. Much.
I let it stay where he placed it… but I turned it slightly to face the television.
Even the skull of our enemies deserves entertainment.
Day 32
There’s a spoon missing.
Not one I use often, but still—noticeable.
Long. Matte teal. A little worn. Like it’s been through something.
Because it has.
All the same shit I have.
I hand-painted it when I was eleven, and somehow it’s still here.
Or it was.
I checked the dishwasher. The sink. The drawer. My bag. It’s not anywhere normal.
I don’t know why this matters. But it does.
Day 33
A thud woke me in the middle of the night.
Not the kind that startles. The kind that reminds you that the night has its own plans. I stayed in bed, letting the warmth of the blankets win out over whatever he was doing out there
In the morning, a trail of poppy seeds led from the kitchen to the base of a bookshelf.
I don’t keep poppy seeds in the house.
I asked no questions.
He offered no answers.
Day 34
I showed him the bin of fabric scraps.
Offered it like a peace gesture. A trust exercise. A trap, maybe.
He dove in without hesitation.
Pulling. Shredding.
Looking for something. Something that he couldn’t find. But I think I can help…
Day 36
He’s building something.
Not a fortress. Not a shrine. Something quieter. Warmer.
I think it’s a nest.
I think he’s nesting.
In the skull of our enemy.
I gave him one of my nicest black scarves—the one he’d been eyeing for days. He dragged it over without hesitation, lining the skull of our enemies with careful precision. A trophy turned cradle, soft and sinister all at once.
And I’m not sure if that makes me feel safe or very, very seen.
Have you noticed signs of creature activity in your own home?
A spoon gone missing. A trail of seeds. A growing fondness for soft things and strategic chaos?
They’re subtle at first. But they always leave clues. Drop your sightings in the comments—I need to know who else is living with something that doesn’t blink.
CamiKaos 