For a few awkward moments, he merely gazed at me. Not normally. With deep focus.
Then he got up and strolled toward the sofa.
“I go by Harrison,” he stated.
“Sydney.”
“Do you reside close by?”
“Just settled into the Greenley complex.”
“By yourself?”
The inquiry surprised me.
I paused. “Yeah.”
Harrison bobbed his head at a slow pace.
Then, practically whispering, he muttered, “Sometimes a tiny object turns into huge riches… if the individual has a good heart.”
I fluttered my eyes. “Excuse me?”
But he had already taken hold of one end of the sofa.
“Give me a hand to raise this.”
While we hoisted it into the loaned pickup truck from the guy living below me, Harrison kept whispering weird little remarks.
“Selfishness alters folks.”
“Relatives battle the most over cash.”
“A pure soul is tough to locate these days.”
Initially, I figured he was just odd. Maybe isolated. But right before I hopped into the vehicle, Harrison unexpectedly gripped my lower arm.
Tightly.
I stopped moving.
He moved nearer, dropping his tone to a hushed voice. “This is not a regular piece.”
A shiver crept up my back. “What are you trying to say?”
“You will figure it out soon enough,” he mentioned softly.
Then he let go of me.
I drove back with a tight feeling in my belly that refused to fade. By nightfall, the sofa rested flawlessly in the center of my flat, making the whole room seem cozier somehow. Finished.
I even sent Morgan a picture.
Morgan: Why does your place suddenly appear wealthy?
Me: Because I apparently bought seating from a spooky grandpa.
Morgan: Set it on fire right away.
I chuckled, but later that evening, resting wide awake in the pitch black, I caught myself looking at the sofa across the space. The rain knocked gently against the glass, the flat was totally quiet, and for causes I couldn’t make sense of… I couldn’t get rid of the sensation that something regarding that sofa was extremely, extremely off.
The second day following taking the sofa indoors, I began spotting the bulge.
Initially, I figured it was merely the worn-out coils.
Each time I rested on the left portion, a hard object pushed lightly under the pad. Not strongly enough to cause pain, but enough to feel weird. I got down next to the sofa that midday with my fingers gliding cautiously under the material.
“Alright… what are you concealing?” I mumbled.
The covering beneath had been sewn shut manually. Heavy dark string. Crooked. Intentional.
A tight feeling grew in my gut. I right away remembered Harrison’s tone.
“This is not a regular piece.”
I leaned back on my feet, all of a sudden uneasy in my personal flat.
My mobile vibrated next to me.
Morgan: Has the spooky sofa killed you yet?
Me: Not yet. But I believe something is tucked inside it.
Three little dots showed up right away.
Morgan: No way.
Morgan: Definitely not.
Morgan: This is the exact way scary films begin.
I gazed at the sofa once more.
The clever move would have been slicing the material open right then. Instead, I got up and strolled into the cooking space acting like I wasn’t creeped out.
That evening, I barely caught any sleep.
Each tiny noise jerked me awake — steps in the corridor, tubes shaking, breeze sweeping against the glass. At roughly midnight, I could have sworn I caught something scratch lightly against the exterior wall close to my emergency stairs.
I stopped breathing.
Quiet.
Then zero sound.
“You are acting crazy,” I mumbled to myself.
Even so, I fastened the window lock two times before heading back to sleep. The following day, I discovered dirty shoe marks outside the complex under my sitting room glass.
Tiny shoe marks. Not grown-up sized.
I gazed at them longer than I needed to. By the third evening, the sensation of being observed had grown impossible to brush off. I constantly caught myself looking toward the glass while preparing supper. Each squeak in the flat caused my back to tighten up.
Around 1:30 in the morning, I eventually fell asleep on the sofa itself with the television flashing softly in the back.
Then I caught it.
A crisp steel clink. My eyelids flew open, and for one confused moment, I stayed perfectly still.
A second noise came next.
The glass pane.
Somebody was prying my window open.
Each muscle in my frame froze.
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