For weeks, I was sure someone was sneaking around my house at night. I heard soft footsteps and strange noises, and every morning things were out of place—my phone on the bed, clothes on the floor. I told myself it was stress, but the fear kept building.

So I set up a camera in my bedroom, expecting to catch an intruder. Instead, I watched myself get out of bed, walk around, open the closet, toss clothes, move my phone, and quietly lie back down. I remembered none of it.

There was never anyone else in my house.
The noises, the mess, the feeling of being watched—it was all me, sleepwalking. And the most frightening part wasn’t the idea of an intruder, but realizing the stranger I feared had been myself all along.