I have made the magnificent mistake of developing a fascination with True Crime while living alone. Nothing in the world can match the sheer level of anxiety one gets after marathoning a miniseries about Ted Bundy and then realizing at 10-o-clock at night that you left your headphones in the car.

I had to watch a few episodes of Tiger King as a palate cleanser, such as it is.

But even without Joe Exotic’s dulcet voice to soothe my nerves, I think I’d still find the apartment slightly unnerving, and especially at night. I have to find a lamp or two for the living room because the only light source currently is the dinky thing on the underside of the microwave (I refuse to use the fluorescent overheads). It has made every late night trip to the fridge a veritable adventure.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I don’t know how to describe it - I feel like I’m being watched, even when I make sure to shut the blinds. It doesn’t help that I rarely see my neighbors, if at all. There are a couple of cars parked in front of the building, but I have yet to see a single living soul enter or exit the breezeway.

I know logically that it’s all in my head - my neighborhood is completely safe and no one has been kidnapped and/or murdered since the 70s (to my knowledge). The problem is that I’m still not fully adjusted to being by myself all the time. Every little noise in the other room can’t just be explained away by the existence of another person..