Clarisse stood by the mirror in her toilet. Not infront of it-- that's how they get you-- but beside it, so that she could see whatever she could make out of the door through the foggy reflection. Thank goodness the lights in the toilet hadn't gone off, and thank EXTRA goodness that the toilet was small enough for her to see its every corner. 8pm isn't exactly haunting time, but her life had become a living nightmare, 24/7.

How exactly had it come to this stage?

Let's start from the beginning.

You might be thinking: Oh, she wanted to buy a house, saw an incredibly cheap listing on Craigslist/ Carousell/ whatever local lowballer haven you know of. She then went to visit the listing, saw a couple of things fall off the shelves, thought she was delusional and signed the check.

On the contrary, this is no ordinary beginning. Yes, indeed, she had been scrambling for a new home, but like any other sane, logical, and clear-headed buyer, she ignored those with ridiculously low prices and shady pictures. And for those which were partially dubious, she made it a point to studiously read through every single comment and review under its property agent.

So why is it that at 9am, 7 July 2022, weird occurences started happening the moment she purchased a seemingly pristine and newly-built apartment?

To be frank, Clarisse was asking herself the same question.

Day 1:

Initially resting in a slouched position on the toilet bowl, Clarisse browsed through her Instagram feed leisurely, swiping through stories and videos. Her phone was with her all the time as she documented every snippet of her life-- from visits to her friends' houses to whining about the sweltering weather in her tropical hometown.

A video about two dudes fighting with lightsabers on a rooftop played when a knock on the toilet door caught her mid-laugh. It wasn't a soft knock. It was a solid knuckle-on-wood, clear as day, reverberation through her door, and she unmistakably heard it with the door positioned right next to her ear.

Her relaxed posture stiffened into a ram-rod straight one. The emptiness of the house echoed right back. With every hair on her body, fear pricked and anxiety beat. All of a sudden, the floor was chilly and the gaps between tiles felt prominent against her feet, reminding her of her toilet layout and what could possibly lie beyond.

She stared hard at the door. Two seconds turned into 10 seconds. Seconds turned into minutes. Nothing moved or sounded in return. "Hey, maybe it was part of my imagination. Or part of the video I was watching," she reasoned. Don't get me wrong-- Clarisse is a strong believer in the supernatural. She does not deny their existence nor refuse to accept it. But when you are sandwiched between a sink and an unsuspecting noise in your own home, on top of the fact that your... toilet business has not been done, you tend to hope for the best.

She redirected her attention back to her phone, hoping that her digital connection to the world could somewhat comfort her loneliness and helplessness in the physical realm. The lightsabers flayed about, and the men danced.

All she heard was silence.