Chapter 10 The USB Drive

Riley's hands trembled as she inserted the USB drive into her laptop. The device had been hidden so carefully, tucked away like Clara's final secret. Whatever was on here, Clara had desperately wanted someone to find it but not just anyone. Someone who would believe her.

The drive mounted with a soft chime, and Riley's breath caught. Dozens of video files, each timestamped over the past six months. She clicked on the earliest one, dated just three weeks after Clara had moved into the Victorian house.

Clara's face filled the screen, but this wasn't the confident, radiant woman Riley remembered from their college days. This Clara looked exhausted, her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles shadowing her eyes.

Day twenty one, Clara whispered to the camera, glancing nervously toward what must have been her bedroom door. I'm starting to think I'm losing my mind, but I need to document this. Maybe if I record everything, I can make sense of it.

She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping even lower. "Things keep moving. I'll put my coffee mug on the kitchen counter, and when I come back, it's in the sink. I'll leave my keys on the hall table, and they'll be hanging on the hook by the door. Small things. Things that could be explained away as forgetfulness, but...

Clara's voice cracked. "I'm not forgetting, Riley. I know I'm not."

Riley's heart lurched. Clara had been talking to her, even then, speaking to a camera as if she were confiding in her old roommate. As if she somehow knew Riley would be the one to find these recordings.

She clicked on the next video. This one was dated a month later.

Day fifty six. Clara's appearance had deteriorated further. Her hands shook as she held what looked like a small notebook. I started writing everything down where I put things, what I did, when I did it. But now the notebook keeps disappearing too. I'll hide it in different places, but it always ends up back on my nightstand.

Clara's eyes darted toward the door again, and she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. Someone's reading it. Someone's in my house when I'm not here. Maybe even when I am here.

Riley's skin crawled. She remembered Clara's phone calls, how her friend had mentioned feeling watched, feeling like someone was in the house. Everyone had dismissed it as anxiety from living alone for the first time, stress from the divorce. But this...

The third video made Riley's blood run cold.

"Day seventy three. Clara's face was gaunt now, her eyes red rimmed and wild. "I set up cameras. Hidden ones. But every morning, the memory cards are wiped clean. Every. Single. Morning. She held up an empty SD card, her hand shaking violently. "Whoever's doing this, they know about technology. They know how to cover their tracks.

Clara leaned forward, gripping the edges of what must have been her desk. I tried to tell David, but he just said I was having a breakdown. Suggested therapy. Medication. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Even my own husband thinks I'm crazy.

Riley had to pause the video. Her chest felt tight, her breathing shallow. How had none of them seen it? How had they all dismissed Clara's fears so easily?

She forced herself to continue. The fourth video was dated just two weeks ago.

"Day one hundred and sixty two." Clara looked like a ghost of herself, her cheekbones sharp in her hollow face. I know who it is now. I found the spare key missing from its hiding spot yesterday, and then this morning it was back. But I never put it back.

Clara's voice became urgent, desperate. It's someone who knows me well. Someone who knows my routines, my habits, where I keep things. Someone who has access to my house, my life, my... She swallowed hard. My trust.

The camera shook as Clara picked it up, moving closer to the lens. "If something happens to me, if I disappear or they say I hurt myself, don't believe them. I would never Her voice broke. I would never leave you all willingly. And I would never, ever hurt myself.

Tears streamed down Clara's face, and Riley found herself crying too, her vision blurring as she watched her friend's final testimony.

Someone is systematically destroying my sanity, making me question everything I know about reality. They're gaslighting me, and they're good at it. Professional level good." Clara wiped her eyes, her expression hardening with sudden resolve. But I'm not as broken as they think I am. I'm going to catch them.

The video ended abruptly, and Riley sat in stunned silence. Her friend hadn't been paranoid or delusional. Someone had been terrorizing her, methodically breaking down her sense of reality until she felt completely isolated and helpless.

Riley scrolled through the remaining files with shaking fingers. There were dozens more videos, each one showing Clara's progressive deterioration as the psychological torture continued. But it was the final video that made Riley's blood freeze in her veins.

The timestamp showed it had been recorded just three days before Clara's death.

Clara appeared on screen, but she looked different. Calmer. Almost peaceful, in a way that was somehow more terrifying than her previous distress.

I know you're watching these, Riley, Clara said, looking directly into the camera as if she could see through the screen. "I always knew you'd be the one to find them. You were always the smart one, the one who noticed things others missed.

Riley's breath caught. How could Clara have known?

I figured out who's been doing this to me, Clara continued, her voice steady and clear. And I know why. But they don't know that I know. Not yet. She leaned closer to the camera, her eyes intense and focused. I'm going to confront them tomorrow night. I have proof now real proof they can't deny or explain away.

Clara held up a small device Riley couldn't quite make out. "I finally managed to get footage of them in my house. Their face, their voice, everything. The police will have to believe me now.