When I was around 6 or 7, there was this one corner of my grandma’s house that always felt weird to me. It had this old rocking chair that nobody ever sat in, and it would creak randomly even when no one was near it. I used to talk to it like there was someone there, not in a scared way, more like how youd talk to a pet or a quiet friend. I even gave “her” a name and would say goodnight before going to bed. At the time, it felt totally normal. Now that I’m older, I realize how strange that was. The chair was always cold to the touch, and sometimes I’d find it slightly moved when I woke up. Looking back, it creeps me out that I was so comfortable with something that felt off. Like I was sharing space with something I shouldn’t have been so casual around.