STORIES OF
LOVE , LAUGHTER, CHILLS & THRILLS
LGBTQ AUTHOR & NARRATOR
I have a place for everything. Yet, lately, my reality is fraying. Badly. It’s not just what’s missing; it’s the way they’re being taken—and then returned! Someone on Reddit called it a Thumbnail Demon infestation, and if they’re right, my “forgetfulness” is actually something much worse than a sanity slip!
It all started with tea…
Three cubes per twelve ounces of water. Two tea bags. No more, no less. I’ve made my tea like this every morning since I can remember.
Marie, my thirteen-year-old tween, asked me recently, “Who uses sugar cubes for their tea these days?” Her tone was disdainful, like I was a history textbook that all humans should be able to live without.
I had shrugged, then said, “I like my portions exact. Sue me.”
Today I’m running late because I cannot find the sugar cube box, and a slow, uncomfortable tension is starting to squeeze my chest.
“Marie!” I call out. “Did you take my sugar cubes for a science experiment again?”
“Nope, not me this time. Ask Eddie.”
I groaned. I was certain her little brother was not to blame. Eddie tends to be the kind of kid who sees a boundary and thinks, ‘Oh, nice.’ Marie, on the other hand, thinks, ‘Can I pole vault over that bitch?’
If you’re a mom, you get it.
Maybe my husband threw the box away by accident? There had only been seven sugar cubes left. Yes, I counted them because I knew that I would have enough left for two cups of tea and then a leftover, which would kill me to throw away, so I would save it until I got another box and just put it in the new one.
I pulled the baking sugar canister down and tried to measure out exactly how much three cubes would be with the half-teaspoon measurement.
I tasted my tea and scrunched up my nose. Ugh, too sweet.
It would have to do. I was late as it was.
My workday turned out to be crazy, but that’s not unusual. I work in project management at a large firm that takes on too many clients with too few employees. I ended up having to work a little late—again.
When I get home, the kids are blissfully busy with friends, homework, video games… I just want to settle down, eat my dinner, and enjoy a nice glass of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio from the bottle that was my “generous” Christmas bonus.
I plate my food. The Thai yellow curry with rice smells divine! I go to my condiment cabinet and open it up, going for the salt. I gasp at what I see.
Between the salt and the cornstarch—yes, I know I alphabetize my pantry items—is my sugar box. Presumably, the one missing this morning. I pull it down. It feels light. I open it and count the cubes at a glance. Only two. I know there were seven in the box yesterday. I’m sure of it.
Who the hell in the family stole the box, took five damn cubes, then returned the box while I was at work!? Did one of the kids get a sugar craving?
I curse under my breath. “Okay, let it go. Your food is getting cold. You can interrogate the fam later,” I tell myself.
I sprinkle a pinch of salt on my food, then turn to the utensil drawer to get my wine key. I pull it out and start to insert the screw into the cork. Just as I get it started, the metal screw comes loose from the handle and tilts sideways in the wood.
“What the ever-loving fu—”
“Hey, Mom!” Eddie says cheerfully.
I whip around, and he takes a step back at my insta-aggro body language.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
I blow out a calming breath.
“Nothing, sweetie. Just having a bad day. Did you happen to take my box of sugar cubes earlier, eat a few, then return it?”
His face screws up into a look that is both quizzical and comical. “Eww. No, Mom. Why would I do that?”
“Yeah, I figured.”
I turn my attention back to the broken wine key and inspect it closer.
“What the hell?” I say, scrutinizing the tool.
“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks again, moving closer to the counter.
“The screws holding the metal to the wooden piece are gone.”
Eddie takes a look at it, pressing his nose down closer to the key.
“Huh, all of them except that one there.” he points to it.
He’s not wrong. There were eight screws—four on each side—and there’s only one remaining, near the top.
I look at Eddie and he immediately holds his hands up in a surrender gesture to say, “Wasn’t me!”
“I know, buddy.” I ruffle his hair, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Hey, you’ll never guess what happened at school…”
My ten-year-old launches into juvenile chatter, but I’m barely listening. I can’t focus. I’m somewhere between fuming, frustrated, and defeated. I just wanted to sit down, enjoy my dinner with a nice glass of wine, and relax.
Eddie eventually leaves.
I put the bottle of wine away, making a mental note to text the hubby to pick up some replacement screws for the wine key, or just order a new one on Amazon.
To take the edge off, I opt for a seltzer water and a bit of flavored vodka instead, and settle into the couch to unwind with my guilty pleasure for the evening.
Please don’t judge me, but I love to peruse Reddit’s boards for forums with “true” paranormal stories.
I open the app on my phone. I start scrolling through my feed and stop at one titled, “Help! Does anyone know why my stuff keeps disappearing and then sort of reappearing?”
I check the forum to see if it’s a fictional or a “true” subreddit. This one is allegedly a lived experience and her username is Bubumeister22. How can anyone take you seriously with a username like that?
Not to brag, but at least u/MaryBlackRose is elegant. Of course, it’s not my full, real name, but you understand where I’m coming from.
I roll my eyes. I don’t really believe in this paranormal stuff, but it’s extremely entertaining to read when I’m between trying to find my next good book. The title of this one hits a little hard. Especially considering the source of my frustrations for the past 24 hours.
As I read, my pulse quickens. The OP goes into details—oddly, too familiar. She has a cherished ballpoint pen, gifted to her by her late grandfather. Her family knows that it’s important, but the cap went missing for 24 hours, then just randomly reappeared.
She keeps her vitamins in one of those little pill containers that elderly people use for medication. On a random Tuesday, the vitamins were gone and she knows she didn’t take them because she has a rigid routine.
But when she came back the next day, half of Tuesday’s capsules were back in their slot.
I feel myself starting to sweat. This post went viral and had a lot of comments. I always read the comments. Sometimes that can be even more entertaining than the post itself. However, deep down, I feel like I’m looking for something more here.
Validation? Have other people had this experience? Am I and the OP the only ones?
I start scrolling through them. Most are just silly replies or well-wishes. Then my eyes land on one that stops the scrolling.
“Sounds like a ‘Thumbnail Demon’ problem. Very rare and hard to get rid of. I know how to take care of them. DM me and we’ll talk privately.”
Thumbnail Demon? What the hell is that?
I roll my eyes again, but the details make me squeamishly uncomfortable. Part of me wants to save the post, but I feel too ridiculous doing that.
Instead, I leave a quick comment, which is normal for me: “Hope you figure it out soon,” and then move on to the next story.
Yet I can’t focus on reading anymore. The details of Bubumeister’s story keep playing over and over. Too many similarities.
Is there a connection?
Finally, it’s time for bed. I put it down to coincidence—nothing more. I tell myself to stop being paranoid.
Yet, I can’t quite let it go.
Feels too coincidental.
First Published on Reddit February 19, 2026
Copyright © 2026 by Mary Black Rose & Black Rose Reads
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