I was just trying to make an empty house feel lived in when I bought an old framed picture from a car boot sale and brought it home without thinking twice about it. At first it was only a strange feeling, the kind you try to brush off when you live alone, but the longer that picture stayed in my house, the more everything around me started to feel wrong. The silence changed. The rooms changed. I changed. What frightened me most was not one single thing, but the slow, horrible feeling that something had followed me home and was making itself comfortable in the one place I was supposed to feel safe. Even now, years later, I can still remember how helpless I felt watching my home turn into somewhere I dreaded coming back to, all because of one picture I should have left where I found it.