STORIES OF
LOVE , LAUGHTER, CHILLS & THRILLS
LGBTQ AUTHOR & NARRATOR
NEED TO CATCH UP?
[PART ONE] [PART TWO] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]
BLURB: 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’s crazy how little, seemingly inconsequential items make up the precise details of our lives to bring us comfort and fluidity. How much we rely on these little things to make up the sum whole of our daily routines.
Is it a false sense of security? Perhaps. But it’s how we live in modern society.
I was no exception to this ‘norm.’
The man known on Reddit as u/ParaExterminator666 shows up promptly at 6 p.m. I look him up and down. A huge guy with a dark crop of curly black hair and bulging muscles. If I weren’t married… Oh my…
Except his dark eyes unnerve me. Practically black. So dark that they seem unnatural.
“Hello, Mary.” He reaches out to shake my hand. It’s firm but not overly aggressive.
“Uh, hi. Yeah, I didn’t catch your name online when—”
“Oh, sorry about that. We got caught up in the chat. Sam Hellter.”
Seriously? Is this guy for real…
What have I gotten myself into?
I hesitate to let this guy in. He could easily overpower me. He’s charming, with a thick accent that denotes Jersey. The phrase “Italian Stallion” briefly flits through my mind.
But good looks and charm mean nothing. Ted Bundy claimed to be those things as well. I should have waited for Ted to be here, but I couldn’t find a way to explain the insanity of what I was doing. Despite my hesitation, Sam waits patiently.
“Hi, Sam. C’mon in.” I finally say.
He comes in and politely wipes his feet on the entry rug. Okay. So far, so good.
“Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Hellter?”
“Nah, let’s get straight to your issue. See if we can root out the little buggers’ nest. I’m paid by the hour, so I don’t want to waste your time or mine.”
“Nest?”
“Oh, for sure. The problem is escalating because they’ve set up shop somewhere on your property. Think sugar ants. They send out scouts, then when they find optimal resources, they build a home nearby and start invading your pantry. Except these guys are more like bed bugs. They permeate the whole house.”
I cringe.
“Uh, okay. Not to sound rude, but why haven’t I heard of these—Thumbnail Demons—you call them? Forgive me if I’m not quite buying into all of this, but I’m at a loss as to—”
His tone becomes sympathetic. “Believe me, I understand why you’re skeptical, but let me put it this way. Science can’t quantify things it can’t see. For example, for years on end, black holes were considered fictional, and then bam—proof—and suddenly they’re real! But if you think about it, they were real all along. There just wasn’t any proof to validate it, so they remained in the realm of fantasy. You aren’t crazy. There’s still a lot about the world we don’t understand.”
I nod, considering this explanation. I suppose he could be right. I once saw a satellite move across the sky, then double back and flash out of sight. I realized immediately it probably wasn’t a satellite, but since I couldn’t attach it to anything in the known world, my brain dismissed it.
Ignorance is bliss?
“Okay, so what do you need to do?” I ask him.
“The nest is probably going to be in your attic, basement, or outside. Could be an old tree or a garden shed. How long have you lived here?”
“It’s a family home. I grew up here, and it was willed to me by my parents when they passed suddenly. So basically my whole life, except for college and a few years early in my marriage before I had kids.”
He nods sagely, with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Alright, let’s start in the attic and then head down to the basement.”
I lead him up to the attic. We’ve been meaning to renovate it for years and make it into a game room for the kids. That hasn’t happened yet, so it remains a storage area filled with boxes and such. As we work our way up the stairwell, I ask, “Do you have any idea why they steal some things and return them, but not others?”
“No idea, ma’am. Why do ghosts haunt one house but not another?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts.”
He just grunts by way of reply and cracks a smile that might be a little condescending. I can’t be sure. He takes out a strange pair of goggles and puts them on. He begins to shuffle around, moving boxes here and there. Once he’s done, he looks up, pulls the goggles down around his neck, and says, “All clear up here.”
“Uh, okay. Basement?”
“Yup. Lead the way.”
We go down to the basement, and he performs the same routine, checking dark corners, and behind boxes.
“Nope, nothing down here either.”
I start to feel like I’m being bamboozled here.
Maybe he notices and hurries to add, “Don’t worry, they’re here. I’ll find ‘em too.”
He winks, and I can’t decide if it’s charming or skeevy. I just nod, and we head back upstairs and outside. I stand on the patio as he starts around the perimeter and works his way to the back.
Suddenly he stops at the big ole’ white oak tree at the very back of my property. He bends down, takes a trowel from his back pocket, then starts to dig at the base. His face lights up with a wide grin as he peeks around the trunk and motions me over.
I go to where he is, and he steps back from the hole he’s dug at the base of a root cluster. The hole is about a foot deep, but there’s nothing there.
“Uh, am I supposed to see somethi—”
“Put these on and take a look!” He pulls the goggles off and thrusts them at me.
I feel incredibly silly, but I do as he says. I put them on, and there’s a filter washing everything in a blue tint. Little things are moving around. Like a crater full of spiders.
I stumble back, surprised by what I’m seeing. I can’t make out the details, but tiny creatures are moving about.
“Here, let me do this—” He moves his hand, clicks a little slider on the side, and the focus magnifies.
I can suddenly see them with greater detail. They are tiny little humanoid things. Little nubs—presumably horns—and tails. They are white against the blue tint. That old fairy tale comes to mind: Thumbelina. They’re so tiny! They’re kind of cute and—
Wait.
One of them sees me looking at him. He turns around, shakes his bare ass at me, whirls back around and flips me the bird!
I gasp and pull the goggles off, my face hot with a mix of embarrassment and rising anger. I feel silly that I got sucked into what is an obvious con!
“Is this a joke to you?” I grit out, my voice trembling. I’m certain that he’s rigged these goggles like an old ‘80s View-Master toy to show me something that isn’t really there—some clever augmented reality trick designed to separate desperate, middle-aged women from their hard-earned money.
He’s somber when he replies, his dark eyes fixed on mine. “I understand your shock, but it’s no joke. You’ve got a mad infestation of these little demons here. They don’t just take things, Mary. They know how to take, the right things that will drive you insane. Make your skin itch because everything isn’t where it belongs. Am I right?”
I huff, crossing my arms tight over my chest. I’m so exasperated, words fail me. I’m about to storm off, ready to threaten him with a bad Yelp review or a maybe even call the police, when he gently pulls my arm and says, “Wait, you’ll want to see this. I’ll prove to you I’m not yanking ya’ chain.”
He puts the goggles back on and pulls a pair of heavy-duty leather gloves from his belt, tugging them on, they reach all the way up to his elbows.
He shovels out dirt even further from the small, shadowed alcove at the base of the tree. As he digs, he stops intermittently and seems to be picking off imaginary bugs that only he can see, flicking them away with a disgusted grunt.
As he works methodically, clearing away the damp earth and tangles of root, things start to emerge from the dirt. Not just rocks or worms, but plastic. Metal.
Things—my things!
The missing toothpaste cap.
That damn seltzer can tab.
The basil cap.
My dongle from my work mouse.
I gasp, my knees feeling a bit like jelly. “What the hell…” I murmur, leaning closer despite the dirt.
He keeps digging, his shovel hitting something with a metallic clink. He unearths a handful of items, wipes them briefly on his thigh, then says, “Open your hand.”
In a daze, I do so.
He drops small items into my hands.
My stomach flips.
There’s so much more to this than I realized, and it’s worse than I could have possibly imagined.
[PART 6]
I know, I know.
Leaving you on a cliffhanger is a bit monstrous of me (pun absolutely intended).
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First Published on Reddit March 5, 2026
Copyright © 2026 by Mary Black Rose & Black Rose Reads
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