Faint. That’s the only way she could describe the movement she caught in the corner of her eye. Like the sudden shifting of shadows. Nothing distinct. The moment her full attention darted to the corner of her quiet living room, everything was still. Clearly, nothing was actually there. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling that there was something.
This wasn’t the first time she had noticed it. As a child, she was convinced that it was the tail of a dragon that lurked in the darkest corner of her closet. As she grew older, she tried to dismiss it as a symptom of an overactive imagination mixed with the small, premature cataract in her left eye. Now, though, it was becoming hard to ignore. Once an occasional occurrence, it now seemed to happen daily. A faint movement behind a curtained window, in the doorway, between the shrubs outside.
“Nothing’s there,” she told herself aloud, as though another voice in the silent house would fix everything.
With a loud sigh and confident flip of her hair over her shoulder, she curled back up with her book and pretended that nothing had happened.
As she reached the top of the next page, she noticed it again. Faint movement to her left, between the tv and the bookshelf. A quick glance. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there.
She shifted now, sitting straight in the chair instead of with her legs hanging over the arm. This way, the corner and the bookshelf were both in full view. Assuring herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, she began to read again.
Before she finished the page, there was another faint movement by the door. Though nothing seemed out of place in full view, her hands trembled. She had never seen it three times in a day, never mind three times in less than five minutes. She set the book down and peered at the door, feigning courage.
“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
And while there wasn’t an audible response, the tingle up her spine assured her that she wasn’t alone.