Strangers in My House
That Saturday, Emily decided to visit her parents’ old house. It had only been three months since her mum passed away, and she still couldn’t bring herself to sort through her things. The house had been left empty, untended. The neighbours—mostly elderly—had either moved in with their kids or rented their homes out. The Millers used to live next door, the kids she’d played with as a child, but now even their place was taken over by strangers. There was no one she could ask to keep an eye on things.
Her husband, James, had left at dawn for a fishing trip, and her teenage daughter, lost in her headphones, had brushed off Emily’s attempt to spend the day together. So, she thought—enough putting it off. She’d go, take a look, maybe start clearing things out, then pop over to her mate Charlotte’s for tea—she’d been inviting her for ages.
She called a cab and stood outside her flat, reminiscing about her childhood street—cosy, quiet, with its own familiar scent and light. The closer the cab got to the house, the tighter the knot in her chest grew. She missed her parents so much it ached.
A few streets away, she got out and decided to walk the rest. But the nearer she got, the stranger she felt. At the gate, she froze.
“What the…?” she muttered under her breath.
The window was open, the curtains pulled back, but she *knew* she’d locked everything tight last time. The lock—broken. Someone had been inside. Or worse—maybe they still were.
She tried calling James—no signal. Looked around—the street was deserted. A lovely autumn weekend, everyone had gone off somewhere. She briefly considered calling the police, but then a chilling thought hit her.
*What if… it’s James?*
He *had* been acting oddly lately. Distant one minute, weirdly cheerful the next. Maybe “fishing” was just an excuse. Maybe he was here—with *her*. The idea burned. She couldn’t believe it… but now she couldn’t shake it off either.
For ten minutes, Emily stared at the windows. Then—a woman’s laugh. Bright, carefree, like someone was having *the time of their life*… in her parents’ house. Her stomach twisted.
Then—a door slammed. Out walked a slim woman in a short dressing gown, towel in hand, heading straight for the sauna in the back.
“Darling, come *on*! Don’t leave me waiting!” she called over her shoulder.
Emily went cold. Young. Pretty. *Of course* he’d trade her in for someone like *that*.
Clenching her teeth, she marched to the gate, scanned the yard, and grabbed a stick to wedge the sauna door shut—keep the *guest* out of the way. Then she spotted her dad’s old belt on the porch—thick, heavy buckle. *Perfect.*
Barging inside, she saw a set table, a bottle of bubbly, the telly on… and a man asleep on the sofa.
“You *snake*! We’ve got a grown *daughter*, and you pull this?!” she yelled, swinging the belt.
“Agh! What the—?! Em… it’s *me*, Dave!”
She stopped. Not James. *Dave*—her husband’s nephew.
“What are you *doing* here? How’d you get in?!”
“God, relax! The door might as well have been made of cardboard! I’ve got *nowhere* to live! Thought the place was empty, so I… crashed here with my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?!” Emily went pale. “And you thought *that* was okay? This isn’t a *hotel*!”
“Christ, Em, have a cuppa or something, yeah? We’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“*No*. Pack your things. *Now*. And you’re paying for a new lock. *You*!”
“Lily…?” Dave frowned. “Where’s she gone?”
“Sauna. *Locked in*. Didn’t want her interfering. Next time she’ll think twice about where she wanders!”
Lily eventually broke free, storming in, flushed and furious.
“This is *my* house, Dave, tell her! I already sent you money for furniture!”
“*Yours*?” Emily scoffed. “This house belonged to my mum, love. You’ve just been swindled by a smooth-talking nephew.”
Lily shrieked, “Give me my money back, you *conman*! I’m reporting you!”
“And you’re *welcome* to,” Dave muttered.
When the dust settled, Emily headed to Charlotte’s and spilled everything—the fear, the sauna, the belt. Charlotte laughed till she cried.
“Em, you *legend*! I’d have called the cops straight off. But *you*—handled it yourself!”
“Just glad it wasn’t James,” Emily sighed in relief. “But that lock’s getting changed. And the door. *Steel*.”
“To fearless women!” Charlotte raised her glass.
“To *us*,” Emily grinned.
