I woke up from that dream feeling strange, for lack of a better term. I just wasn't bothered anymore by those theological and philosophical questions that had haunted me for years. However, it wasn't like I'd come to any real conclusions. I was still where I was before, just without the desire to keep seeking the truth. I just didn't care about God anymore. I wasn't upset, but I wasn't happy either. I was just numb, I guess is the correct term. I felt empty, but I wasn't bothered by that emptiness. I felt like some weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but I wasn't even slightly emotional about that. I felt neither relieved or worried. Again, I was just numb. Blank minded. Soulless. 

I got dressed and headed upstairs to find something for breakfast. I was home alone. Mom was at work. Jack was at sports camp. Neither of them would be home until later that evening. I figured I'd have a leftover fish filet along with a bowl of steamed broccoli. I didn't feel like cooking anything new. I put the broccoli in the microwave first, and once they were done, went ahead and cooked the fish in the microwave. While I was cooking the fish, I salted the broccoli and stirred it around using a fork. When the fish was done, I turned my back to the bowl of broccoli to get the fish out of the microwave. 

During the few seconds I had my back turned to the bowl of broccoli to get the plate of fish out of the microwave, someone stole the fork out of the bowl of broccoli. I'm being serious! Somehow, in less than three seconds, someone who was not anyone I knew of, snuck in behind me, pulled the fork out of the bowl, and left the kitchen completely silently. I didn't see, hear, or sense anyone. I knew I was alone in the house, and I would've definitely noticed if I wasn't alone. Plus, who the hell steals used silverware out of other people's food, when there's an entire drawer full of silverware directly below the counter that bowl is sitting on? 

I was very confused. I went around the house just to confirm that I was, indeed, home alone, and all of the doors and windows were locked from the inside. I texted my mom to see where she was, and a few minutes later, replied that she was at work and wouldn't be home until the evening. I checked around the house one last time just to make sure I was alone, and peered outside through my mom's bedroom window to make sure nobody was parked in the driveway or out on the street. 

According to my observations, I was totally home alone. But, where the hell did my damn fork go? I would've heard it clamber on the tile floor if it fell out of the bowl. I would've definitely heard and seen someone approaching me since my kitchen was small and enclosed. Yet, I didn't hear, see, or even feel a single thing. I knew, logically, that I was alone, and it was impossible for a fork to just magically disappear. But, I certainly didn't feel so alone. 

I decided that there wasn't anything I could do about anything. If there was an ax murderer in my house who had somehow managed to steal a fork out of my bowl of broccoli, that I left on the counter literally two feet behind myself, who also avoided getting caught or being heard as I checked every dark corner and empty room, and somehow got inside my house without breaking any windows or disturbing any locks, there wasn't much I could do to defend myself from him. He was just too damn good. If I was destined to get hacked to death, I guess I was just destined to get hacked to death. 

An hour or so later, I'd completely forgotten about the weird fork incident and headed into the bathroom to do my business. I closed the pocket door and turned around, only to lock eyes with a fork in my bathroom sink that had a couple of tiny pieces of broccoli stuck to it. Now I was convinced there was an ax murderer in my house, and he was waiting for me to open up the bathroom door so he could hack me to death in the one little room I could not easily escape from. But, I wasn't going to go out without a fight. 

I decided I'd use that fork as a weapon. I held it like I'd hold a knife, with the prongs ready to be stabbed into anyone who might be lurking on the other side of the door. Then, I wrapped a couple of fingers from my free hand around the pocket door handle, and gave myself a couple seconds to prepare myself for the epic ax-verses-fork battle I was sure was coming the second I slid that door open. But, when I threw that door open and raised my arm to stick that fork into my attacker before they had a chance to swing at me, I stopped. There was no ax murderer waiting for me on the other side. In fact, there was nothing. I was alone, and I could see my dog on the main room couch snoring away. He loved people and would be very excited if there was someone else besides myself in the house. But, it was just me and him, and the fact that he was audibly snoring was proof that it was just us. 

I relaxed and headed to the kitchen to rinse off the fork and put it into the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes. While I did this, I realized just how weird the whole incident was. I mean, I remembered using a fork to stir my broccoli around so every piece got salt on it while my fish was cooking. But, maybe I was remembering things wrong. Maybe that fork wasn't mine, but came from my little brother, even though I knew he knew better than to use my bathroom sink as a place to store his dirty dishes, and he hated broccoli. I knew I wouldn't do that myself. I gagged at the thought of bringing anything from the kitchen into the bathroom, unless it was just to fill up a cup of water. 

However, the events leading up to the fork going missing were all too real and conventional to dismiss as something I'd just imagined. My broccoli tasted salty, and there were a couple of pieces of broccoli on the fork that I found just sitting in my bathroom sink. So, clearly, I must've used that specific fork to stir up my broccoli, because I did not salt or stir my broccoli with the new fork. But, how and why did my first fork end up in the bathroom sink, especially since I was alone, and didn't even go near that room once until I had to actually use the bathroom an hour after I finished my breakfast? And, why would I go out of my way in the first place to put a fork in my bathroom sink?

I was beginning to worry that I was going crazy, and figured the best way I was going to deal with the fork incident was to pretend it didn't happen at all. Nobody else was around to witness anything, and I wasn't about to call my mom and ask if she had stolen my fork for some reason without me knowing. If I really needed to get that shit off my chest, I had an appointment with my therapist in a few days. She'd know what to do!

But, the next day, I had a similar experience, this time with a soup spoon. And then next day, I had another experience just like the other two involving another fork. On top of that, I was starting to hear things, which really got me worried I was losing my sanity.

A day before I headed to therapy, I was down in my bedroom working on my memoir, when it sounded like my mom had come home. I heard the familiar sound of the front door squeaking open, and her high heels clicking the tile floor above me. I even heard her drop her purse on that floor, before walking to the dining room table where she kept her laptop. I figured I'd go upstairs to greet her and see what she was doing home so early. It was just after noon. She didn't usually return home until the later evening. 

I headed upstairs, calling for my mom, but I was getting no responses. I figured she was just very busy, so I quietly walked through the living room and rounded the corner to face the dining room. It was empty, and her laptop was closed. I then turned around and stared at the front foyer. My mom's purse wasn't where it sounded like she dropped it. It wasn't anywhere to be found at all. And her keys were not on any tables, counters, or key rings throughout the house. Hell, her car wasn't even in the driveway! I even sent her a text, asking when she'd be home, and she sent a text back explaining she had a few meetings that day and would be home later than usual, and to make sure I got the house cleaned up.

Again, I did my best to dismiss the noises, but wasn't exactly sure how. They were incredibly distinct. It wasn't just the house settling, or the pipes rattling, or some other typical house noise I was used to by then, and there wasn't anything going outside that could mimic the sounds of my mom coming home. It was really strange and freaky, and I had no idea what to make of it.