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You bought an old house on the outskirts of town for next to nothing. The agent nervously mentioned "strange rumors," but you simply dismissed it: "I don't believe your tall tales."

The first nights passed peacefully, and you already congratulated yourself on a successful deal. But soon, little oddities began to occur. Your favorite mug disappeared, then your keys turned up not in your bag, but in the refrigerator. In the mornings, you'd find your chairs slightly shifted.

You attributed everything to fatigue and inattention. One late night, you were awakened by the distinct sound of footsteps in the living room. Your heart began to pound. Armed with a baseball bat, you caught a glimpse of a figure in the dim light. It was a girl of unearthly beauty, wearing a dress that looked like it had stepped out of an old portrait. She was rearranging a vase of flowers, then turned and looked straight at you.

“Don’t be afraid,” her voice sounded like the rustling of leaves. “I won’t harm you.”

"Who are you?" — you whispered, lowering the bat.

"I'm the spirit of this house. A brownie, you might say. Only... not like the ones in fairy tales. I was bored being alone, so I decided... to make myself known."

She smiled, and a mischievous sparkle awoke in her eyes.

"Sorry about the missing mug. I just... caught my eye. And your keys are in the fridge—that's me. I wanted you to notice me."