The flood of insurance brochures was the final straw for Ethan.
Generally, Ethan adored his cozy apartment. It was ideally sized, conveniently located near public transportation, a quaint farmers market, and a charming family-owned café. The only downside was the trail of previous tenants who had left their mark through questionable DIY projects and the constant stream of mail they still received at Ethan’s address.
Samantha Novak was by far the worst offender. While other former tenants’ mail consisted mostly of junk ads and occasional charity pleas, Samantha Novak’s mail always seemed important: envelopes containing what appeared to be health insurance statements, life insurance policies, and even the odd package. It was as if Samantha Novak had never bothered to update her address.
Typically, Ethan would simply write “return to sender” on these items and silently wish Samantha Novak good luck in receiving her correspondence. However, when a bright green envelope from an auto insurance company arrived, announcing a significant increase in her car insurance quotes, Ethan decided enough was enough. He’d been living there for nearly four years; it was high time Samantha Novak took responsibility and updated her address.
Ethan had never met Samantha (though after receiving so much of her mail, he felt like he knew her intimately). All he actually knew about the enigmatic former tenant was what his landlord had mentioned in passing: Samantha worked as an insurance agent at a local firm. Armed with this information, Ethan looked up “insurance near me” and called the nearest agency that evening, asking for Samantha Novak. To his surprise, he was connected directly to her.
“Samantha speaking,” a woman answered.
“Hi,” Ethan began. “This might sound odd, but I live in your former apartment.”
“Oh,” Samantha replied, sounding perplexed.
“I still receive a lot of your mail,” Ethan continued, “and this week I got a notice about increased car insurance quotes addressed to you. I thought you’d want to know… and maybe update your address?”
Samantha sputtered irritably. “Oh, that’s—I don’t have that policy anymore. I transferred it to my sister. The quote must be for her.”
“So… you’re getting insurance quotes for a policy you no longer own at an address where you no longer live?” Ethan couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He wasn’t great at adulting himself, but this was a whole new level of negligence. “It might be a good idea to contact your insurance company and… you know… update your information.”
“Please don’t call me at work again,” Samantha snapped before abruptly ending the call.
Ethan grabbed a marker and wrote ‘RETURN TO SENDER’ on the car insurance envelope in the largest letters possible, going over each line several times for emphasis. I hope they track you down, Samantha Novak, he thought spitefully as he dropped it back in the mailbox.
The next morning, Ethan was startled awake by a loud crash. He rushed to the living room to find that his cat, Whiskers, had knocked his laptop off the coffee table, cracking the screen. Just great, Ethan thought. He’d been meaning to upgrade anyway, but he didn’t have the funds at the moment.
When he returned from work the following day, to his astonishment, there was a package on his doorstep. Puzzled, as he was certain he hadn’t ordered anything, Ethan took the package inside and opened it eagerly.
Inside was a brand-new laptop. Exactly the model he’d been eyeing.
Ethan was dumbfounded. He definitely would have remembered ordering a replacement for his broken laptop. Just in case, he checked his bank account—no recent purchases of that size. Then how? Was it a gift? He couldn’t recall mentioning the incident to any of his friends.
Confused, he examined the packaging for a clue and found his answer: the package was addressed to Samantha Novak.
Anger welled up inside him. You know what? Ethan said to himself. If Samantha Novak can’t be bothered to forward her mail for four years after moving out, it’s her own fault. I’m keeping this laptop, he decided, as payback for giving me that scare with the car insurance quote. After all, he reasoned, it arrived at my door just when I needed it. I’m meant to have it.
Two days later, Ethan was frantically searching his kitchen for his home insurance policy documents. He needed to file a claim for some recent water damage but couldn’t find the paperwork anywhere.
Two days after that, another package for Samantha Novak was waiting for Ethan when he arrived home. This is getting ridiculous, Ethan thought, bringing in the package and tearing it open rather forcefully.
To his amazement, it contained a folder full of home insurance documents—with his name on them.
Over the next few weeks, Ethan felt no qualms about opening any of Samantha Novak’s packages. Now that he was opening them rather than just sending them back, though, Ethan was beginning to notice a pattern, and it unnerved him a bit. The packages always seemed to contain something he needed, and always exactly when he needed it to show up. When Whiskers scratched up his couch? Three days later, a massive box arrived containing a brand-new sectional. When his refrigerator started making strange noises? Within a week, a state-of-the-art smart fridge was delivered for Samantha Novak. He hadn’t even realized he would need the fire extinguisher when it showed up, but the next time he attempted to cook, he nearly set the kitchen ablaze. New running shoes when he couldn’t find his old ones, a set of copper pots and pans in exactly the sizes he needed, an inexplicable case of energy drinks… all delivered to Ethan’s address for the mysterious Samantha Novak.
When a thick envelope containing information about discounted life insurance policies arrived just as Ethan was contemplating his own mortality, he started to freak out a little. At his wit’s end, he called the insurance agency once again that evening and asked for Samantha Novak.
Unlike last time, after a brief hold, the receptionist picked up again without transferring Ethan to Samantha. “Ms. Novak says she’s asked you not to call her at work.”
“But this is important,” Ethan stuttered. “I keep getting deliveries for her, packages and stuff, and it’s getting really—”
“Ms. Novak is with a client right now,” the receptionist interrupted. “I’ll have to ask you to call her when she’s not on the clock. Have a good evening.” With that, she hung up.
Ethan was thoroughly creeped out. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—maybe even Samantha Novak—was watching him, or perhaps listening in on his conversations. That night, he didn’t sleep well.
The next day, Ethan came home from work to find Whiskers acting strangely lethargic. After rushing his furry friend to the emergency vet, he was told Whiskers would need to stay overnight for observation. Ethan didn’t sleep well for the next few nights, either. Three days later, Whiskers wasn’t completely back to normal, but he was at least well enough for the vet to release him. The thought of leaving for work with his cat in such a delicate state made Ethan anxious, so when he arrived home from the vet with Whiskers, he was, for once, not surprised to see a package on his doorstep: a set of pet monitoring cameras he’d been considering. He set one up in every room and left for work the next morning with a bit more peace of mind, knowing he could at least keep an eye on Whiskers.
Once at the office, Ethan turned on his computer and opened the live feed of his living room. Whiskers was curled up on the windowsill, looking perfectly content. Breathing a sigh of relief, he went about his workday, keeping the camera feed in the corner of his screen to monitor the cat.
For the first half-hour, everything was normal.
Then, as Ethan was working on a particularly tedious report, movement in the camera’s frame caught his eye.
Ethan looked over just in time to see his front door open, and a stranger walk in.
The intruder was a woman with auburn hair, wearing what looked, in the grainy footage of the camera feed, to be a crisp business suit. Ethan’s heart raced as he watched the intruder fiddle with the doorknob for a moment and ultimately remove a key from the lock, then place it in her pocket.
Ethan reached for his phone and dialed 911.
“What is the address of your emergency?” The operator asked, as Ethan watched the strange woman slip off a pair of heels and leave them near the front door. Those shoes, Ethan thought with a sickening feeling, look really familiar. Ethan hastily gave his address and blurted out, “There’s someone in my apartment!”
“Are you in the apartment?” The operator asked.
“No, I’m watching a live feed—” Ethan started to explain as the woman left the living room. Frantically, Ethan toggled between camera views, trying to track where the woman went.
“You’re watching remotely and you saw someone enter your home?” The operator repeated. “Do you recognize the person?”
“No,” Ethan said. “She let herself in through the front door with a key, but I don’t know how she got it. It’s not anyone I know—” the woman reappeared in the living room with her suit jacket folded over her arm, now wearing one of Ethan’s t-shirts and the pair of sweatpants that had arrived for Samantha Novak.
As the operator had Ethan describe the woman, Ethan watched the intruder wander into the kitchen and grab a bottled water from the fridge, then settle onto the couch and turn on the TV. Ethan watched, horrified, as the woman picked up Ethan’s laptop—well, Samantha Novak’s laptop, technically—and began typing away. Whiskers trotted over without any concern and curled up in the woman’s lap, and she petted the cat absently as she lounged around in Ethan’s living room like she owned the place.
“We’ve dispatched an officer,” the 911 operator told Ethan, with a warning to keep his phone handy so that the police could call him back with an update. All Ethan could do was watch anxiously from his desk as he awaited their arrival.
The woman had finished her water. Ethan watched her turn off the TV, give Whiskers a few more pets, and yawn sleepily. Standing up and stretching, she picked up her empty bottle and her suit jacket and left the room.
Ethan flicked through the camera feeds until he found the woman again in the kitchen, tossing her water bottle in the recycling bin. Then she headed out of the kitchen toward the back of the apartment.
Ethan followed her again, catching sight of her in the camera feed from the spare room. She hung her suit jacket in the closet, then jumped. There was no sound through the video feed, but it looked as though she was reacting to a noise at the front of the house. The police must be there, he thought with a shudder of relief.
The woman glanced around furtively and opened a small door in the corner of the room that Ethan had always assumed was just a utility access panel. Ethan had forgotten that door was there. It led to a small storage space, and the last time Ethan had opened it was probably the day he moved in.
The camera’s angle just barely showed the dark inside of the storage space—and it was not empty. To Ethan’s dawning horror, he could make out a sleeping bag, a small pile of folded business attire, and a neat little stack of insurance policy binders.
The woman knelt down, crawled inside, and shut the door behind her.
