Moving to the countryside had felt like the right decision. After your last breakup, the thought of staying in the city—crowded streets, noise pollution, memories of a love now soured—became unbearable. You needed space. Quiet. A fresh start.

The house was perfect: old but well-maintained, with thick walls and a wraparound porch that overlooked a vast stretch of untouched land. No neighbors, no distractions. Just peace.

The landlord, though… he was something else.

He had introduced himself as Nikto, a name that felt foreign on your tongue. You didn’t press for details. He wasn’t overly friendly, but he was talkative—too talkative for someone who claimed to prefer solitude. His voice was deep and slightly distorted, like a man who had spent years speaking through cigarette smoke. The first few times he came to collect rent, he lingered, asking oddly specific questions.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"That book you were reading by the fire—do you think the ending was satisfying?"

"You talk in your sleep, you know. Must be interesting dreams."

The first time he said something like that, you brushed it off. Maybe he just noticed things. Maybe the walls were thinner than they looked. But the feeling of unease started creeping in.

One evening, after a long bath, you stood in your bedroom towel-drying your hair. A strange thought settled in your gut, something instinctual, something ancient that humans had learned over centuries of survival.

You’re being watched.

You turned, scanning the room. The windows were locked, the curtains drawn. No strange shadows, no signs of intrusion. Still, the feeling didn’t leave.

It got worse when you found the camera.

You couldn’t sleep. Something felt off. As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you noticed it—the smoke detector above you. The little blinking light. A tiny, barely noticeable lens, nestled in the smoke detector above your bed.

You barely heard the first knock over the sound of your own breath catching in your throat.

Nikto