THE MYSTERY IN MY HOUSE
I’ve been renting out my basement for almost ten years now. The extra money helps me survive, yes… but honestly, it helps with the loneliness more than anything.
So when my new tenant arrived, he felt like a small gift from heaven.
Or… at least, that’s what I thought at the beginning.
Because a few weeks later, his clothes started showing up in my bedroom, and for the first time in my life, I wondered if old age was finally messing with my mind.
My name is Eliza, and I’m seventy years old.
My house is tiny, a two-story place that creaks in cold weather and sighs in warm weather. But it’s mine.
The basement apartment is simple: a kitchenette, a bathroom, and what my late husband used to call “the cave.” He would grin whenever he said it, as if the basement was part adventure, part annoyance.
The truth is:
I rent it out because I need the money…
But I also rent it out because the evenings are painfully long when you live alone.
Sometimes the TV feels like just noise, not a companion.
So when Peter showed up three months ago, I felt… relieved.
He was polite. Quiet. Respectful.
Always early with rent. Always wearing nicely pressed clothes, hair neat and short.
He’d hold doors open for me, whisper “Sorry, Ma’am” if he sneezed too loudly, and even took off his shoes inside without me asking — something my own son never managed to do.
My book club practically drooled over him.
Margaret leaned across the table one afternoon and said, “You found a unicorn. Don’t let him go.”
I laughed. I didn’t plan to.
But then… things changed.
Slowly.
Strangely.
Uncomfortably.
It started small.
THE MISSING GLASSES
One afternoon I asked him,
“Peter dear, have you seen my reading glasses?”
He looked up from sweeping the walkway.
“No, Ma’am. Did you check the kitchen?”
I had. They were exactly where I left them.
I brushed it off. Forgetfulness happens at my age. Or at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
But then the real strange things began.
THE FIRST CLOTHING INCIDENT
The first time I found something, it was a pair of men’s socks, crumpled near my dresser.
I stared at them for a whole minute.
“Maybe I mixed up the laundry,” I whispered.
But I knew I hadn’t. I’ve been doing laundry longer than Peter has been alive.
The next week, it was a plain gray T-shirt, lying casually at the foot of my bed.
Clean, soft, neatly folded — but absolutely not mine.
So I went downstairs.
I knocked.
“Peter? Are these yours?”
He blinked at them in surprise.
“Oh—yeah, Ma’am, they’re mine. I had them drying. But… I don’t know how they got upstairs.”
His face looked honest. Confused.
He even tried,
“Maybe the wind?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“The wind doesn’t carry shirts into my bedroom, dear.”
He gave an awkward laugh.
“No, I guess not. I’m sorry. I’ll be careful.”
But things only got stranger.
THE UNDERWEAR ON THE NIGHTSTAND
One afternoon, after my nap, I walked into my bedroom and froze.
Right on my nightstand…
Men’s briefs.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. My hand shook. I marched downstairs, holding them up like a crime scene exhibit.
“Peter,” I said sharply. “We need to talk.”
He stepped out, saw the underwear, and went pale.
“I… what? No. That’s impossible.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Ma’am, I swear I didn’t put those there.”
I snapped,
“I didn’t accidentally anything.”
But even then, doubt crept into me.
Was this memory loss? Early dementia? Something worse?
Peter’s voice went soft.
“I’m so sorry. I promise it’s not intentional.”
But none of us knew what it really was.
THE DAY EVERYTHING CHANGED
Thursday morning, I had a doctor’s appointment. Nothing dangerous — just routine.
But I came home exhausted.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
I kicked off my shoes, went upstairs, and collapsed onto my bed.
I fell asleep instantly.
Then I woke up —
to heavy breathing
right next to my head.
Wet… loud… animal-like breathing.
I opened my eyes and nearly screamed.
A big golden retriever stared right back at me, tail wagging, eyes warm and glowing.
Dangling from his mouth?
A pair of men’s shorts.
“What on earth…?”
He dropped them on my rug proudly and dashed out of the room.
I jumped up, heart racing, and chased the sound of claws skittering on the wooden floor.
The basement door was slightly open.
Inside, I heard giggles.
A child’s giggles.
My heartbeat sped up as I stepped down the stairs.
And then everything clicked.
There, standing in Peter’s living room, was a little girl — maybe eight or nine — holding a leash attached to the golden dog.
Peter turned around, saw me, and his face drained of color.
“Ma’am… I didn’t think you’d be home.”
The girl clung to his sleeve.
The dog wagged his tail like he had done nothing wrong.
THE TRUTH
“I can explain,” Peter blurted out. “Please, just let me explain.”
He swallowed hard.
“This is Lily. My sister.”
Lily stared at me with wide, frightened eyes.
“Our mom works double shifts at the diner. Since I took this new job, there’s nobody to watch Lily after school. She brings Dew — the dog — because he cries when he’s alone.”
Peter’s voice trembled.
“I didn’t want to lose this place. The lease says no pets, no guests. I thought if you knew, you’d kick me out. So I just… kept it quiet. I’m really, really sorry.”
Everything came together like puzzle pieces.
The shirts.
The socks.
The underwear.
The golden dog — Dew — had been stealing the clothes and proudly delivering them to the nearest “important spot”…
My bedroom.
I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
“Peter… your dog has been stealing your clothes and bringing them upstairs.”
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Oh my God.”
He buried his face in his hands.
“Please don’t kick us out. Lily has nowhere to go after school.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears. Dew flopped onto his back as if begging for mercy.
My heart softened like warm butter.
A NEW BEGINNING
I slowly sat down.
“Peter, you should’ve told me,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t have minded your sister. Or even the dog. But finding men’s underwear on my nightstand? That could give a woman my age a heart attack.”
He let out a small, shaky laugh.
“I’m so, so sorry, Ma’am. I promise — no more secrets.”
I stood up, feeling calm for the first time in weeks.
“It’s all right. Just be honest next time. And keep that thieving dog under control.”
Lily giggled.
Dew barked, tail thumping the floor.
Peter’s eyes glistened with gratitude.
“Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you so much.”
I smiled.
“And Lily can come upstairs anytime she wants. It’s too quiet up there anyway. Maybe she’d like some cookies after school.”
Lily’s whole face lit up.
“Really?”
“Really,” I said. “Just keep Dew out of my bedroom unless he brings cookies instead of underwear.”
She laughed so hard she snorted.
For the first time in a long, long while…
My house felt alive.
Not lonely.
Not silent.
Just warm.
Three months of confusion, fear, and doubt… all caused by one over-friendly, clothing-collecting dog.
Now, Peter still rents the basement.
Lily visits every day after school.
Dew behaves… well, mostly.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes the things we fear most end up becoming the blessings we needed.