Rick wouldn’t stop staring at the ceiling.
At first, I thought it was nothing—just another strange dog quirk. But his late-night barking at the kitchen cupboards turned from odd to terrifying. The night I finally grabbed a flashlight and climbed toward the duct, I thought I was being paranoid. Then I saw movement. A filthy hand. A face. A man. My breath shat… Continues…They arrived fast, voices firm but cautious as they coaxed him out. He collapsed onto our floor, weak, blinking against the light, mumbling half-coherent apologies. Later, the officers explained he’d been moving through the building’s ventilation for weeks, slipping into apartments, taking small things no one would miss right away.
A quiet, invisible theft—until one dog refused to ignore the ceiling. Rick lay at my feet, finally calm, as the truth left with the flashing lights.
