Rachel had always felt like she was barely keeping her head above water. Between her little brother’s mounting medical bills, the weight of full-time university classes, and her late-night shifts as a waitress, life had become one overwhelming struggle.
When she was accepted into a university in a new city, she should have felt thrilled, but instead, she was overwhelmed with the daunting task of finding affordable housing. That’s when she found the ad. It seemed too good to be true—a cozy room for rent at a price that seemed like a miracle.
The listing was simple but inviting. The photos showed a charming home with vintage furniture, soft floral wallpaper, and delicate lace curtains. The ad said it was perfect for a “quiet, respectful female tenant,” with no pets or smoking allowed. Rachel’s heart lifted as she read it, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of hope.
When Rachel arrived at the house, she was greeted by Mrs. Wilkins, the elderly lady renting out the room. Mrs. Wilkins was the kind of person you’d picture as a grandmother—neatly pinned silver hair, soft eyes, and a smile that could light up a room.
“Oh, you must be Rachel!” Mrs. Wilkins gushed, pulling her inside with an enthusiasm that made Rachel feel instantly welcome. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined. Come in, dear, come in!”
Rachel stepped into the house, feeling an odd sense of relief. The house felt warm and cozy, with knick-knacks on every shelf, lace curtains that let soft sunlight filter through, and the comforting aroma of vegetable soup wafting from the kitchen.
Over dinner, Mrs. Wilkins leaned in, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Tell me about your family, dear,” she asked, her tone sweet but oddly probing.
Rachel hesitated but then shared a little about her late parents and her younger brother, Tommy, who was being taken care of by their aunt while Rachel focused on her studies.
Mrs. Wilkins’s smile faltered for just a moment, but then she quickly recovered. “How convenient,” she murmured softly. “And it’s just you here now, then?”
Rachel nodded. “Just me.”
Mrs. Wilkins clasped her hands together, a satisfied glint in her eye. “Well, you’ll be safe here, Rachel. I’ll make sure of it.”
That night, for the first time in months, Rachel slept deeply. She felt a sense of peace, convinced she had found a safe haven. But the next morning, everything changed.
Rachel woke early, eager to start her day, and headed to the kitchen for coffee. But when she opened the fridge, something caught her eye—a long list, taped to the front. The words were written in bold, red letters: “HOUSE RULES – READ CAREFULLY.” Rachel’s stomach tightened as she read through the rules:
- No keys will be provided. Mrs. Wilkins will let you in between 9 a.m. and 8 p.m. only.
- The bathroom is locked at all times. You must request the key and return it immediately after use.
- Your bedroom door must remain open at all times. Privacy breeds secrets.
- No meat in the fridge. Mrs. Wilkins is a vegetarian and does not tolerate carnivores.
- You must leave the house every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Mrs. Wilkins has her “ladies’ tea.”
- No visitors. Ever. Not even family.
- Mrs. Wilkins reserves the right to enter your room whenever she pleases.
- Cell phone usage is restricted to 30 minutes daily, monitored by Mrs. Wilkins.
- No music allowed. Mrs. Wilkins requires absolute peace.
- You are not allowed to cook your own food without Mrs. Wilkins’s consent.
- You may use the shower only three times a week.
The list made Rachel’s blood run cold, but it wasn’t just the rules that unsettled her. It was the last line: “**** RESERVED FOR LATER ****” What did that even mean?
“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Wilkins’s voice broke through her thoughts, making Rachel jump. She turned to see Mrs. Wilkins standing behind her, eyes sharper than they had been the day before.
“Did you read the rules?” Mrs. Wilkins asked, her voice light but her gaze unwavering.
Rachel hesitated. “I… yes.”
Mrs. Wilkins’s smile stretched wider, but it was no longer warm. “And? Are they acceptable?”
“They’re… thorough,” Rachel stammered, her mind racing.
Mrs. Wilkins took a step closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming. “Thorough is what keeps us safe, dear. Safety is everything.”
That was the moment Rachel realized she couldn’t stay. Something about the situation felt off—too controlled, too suffocating. As soon as Mrs. Wilkins left the house to tend to her garden, Rachel rushed to pack her things. Every creak of the floorboards, every soft rustle of the curtains, felt like a warning.
Just as she was about to leave, she heard a voice crackling through an intercom she hadn’t noticed before.
“Leaving so soon, dear?” Mrs. Wilkins’s voice echoed eerily through the empty house. “You didn’t ask for permission.”
Rachel froze. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to move. She grabbed her suitcase, her hands trembling, and made a run for the door.
As she opened it, Mrs. Wilkins’s voice called out one more time, this time from behind her.
“Remember, Rachel: Everything is worth discussing. Always.”
Rachel didn’t look back. She didn’t dare.
Hours later, Rachel found herself sitting on a park bench, her suitcase at her feet, trying to process what had just happened. That’s when a young man, a stranger, approached with a warm smile and a coffee.
His name was Ethan, and he listened as Rachel shared her bizarre experience. He didn’t laugh or brush her off. Instead, he nodded knowingly. “People like that don’t just have rules,” he said quietly. “They have reasons. Dark reasons.”
Ethan helped her find a new place—a shared apartment with kind roommates and reasonable rules. Over time, Rachel started to rebuild her life. But even as she felt safer, there were nights when she would lie awake, wondering about Mrs. Wilkins. About the house, the locked bathroom, the strange rules. And the words Mrs. Wilkins had said echoed in her mind:
“Everything is always worth discussing.”
Rachel shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t left when she did.
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