The Sanity Thief

A thief who doesn’t steal? That must be the stupidest thing ever.

Sanae, however, was the victim of one. That morning, she went to the kitchen to get her coffee mug — the one with a cartoon teabag using a cup as a bathtub — and stood there, eyes squinted. Where could the mug be? There was only one other possible place.

She walked to her writing desk and found the mug there. Strange. She could’ve sworn she’d washed the mug and put it in the dish rack last night. Had she dreamed that? Nonsense. Who would dream about washing dishes?

Perhaps Sanae just thought about washing the mug, but didn’t actually do it. This happened often; her thoughts and reality would intrude on each other’s realms.

Enough of these mindless thoughts. She made coffee, then slumped onto her desk chair and opened her laptop to write another bill-paying home-appliance review. It’d be yet another lonely, uneventful day.

And probably tomorrow too.

Sunlight woke Sanae, and sleepiness sent her to make coffee. When she reached her desk, she froze. Her laptop wasn’t here. Panicking, she surveyed the room: sofa, floor, kitchen — but couldn’t find it. Should she look at things from a different angle? She crouched and checked around.

Her laptop was under the desk.

Sanae sat on her heels, analyzing the situation. She definitely hadn’t put it there. Why would she? So it’d be safe in case of an earthquake? Wait, perhaps there was an earthquake while she was sleeping, her laptop fell off, then the tremors moved it under the desk? There must be a more logical explanation.

Was she sleepwalking? But she’d never done that before; otherwise, her ex would’ve noticed. That left only one option.

A thief had entered her apartment.

Sanae darted to the door. Thank heavens her handbag was still hanging there. She fumbled inside. Phone, wallet, credit card. She sighed with relief. Next, she rummaged in her closet drawers, where she put her bills, contracts, and statements. They were all there. Finally, she sprinted to the kitchen and checked the cupboard. Stupid thought. What thief would steal pots and plates?

So, apparently, the thief hadn’t stolen anything from her. Still, someone trespassed on private property. And that was a crime.

Sanae slid on her parka and pumps, then hurried out of her apartment and into the police box across the street. Panting, she bowed a greeting to the good-looking, middle-aged officer.

“A thief broke into my apartment!” she blurted before the police officer could ask her what was wrong.

He rose from his chair. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did they steal?”

“Nothing. They just moved things around. Yesterday it was my coffee mug and today my laptop.”

The police officer squinted until his eyes became two minus signs. “All right … So why do you think this thief is doing this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to mess with my head? Confuse me?”

“If this person isn’t stealing anything, then they’re not a thief.”

“They’re more like a … sanity thief. Yes, because they aren’t stealing my things but my sanity.”

“I’m sorry, but that sounds too crazy.” The police officer crossed his arms. “Please come back when you’ve actually been a victim of theft.”

Sanae sighed. Not being understood felt lonelier than being alone. Anyhow, she had no choice but to catch this thief herself.

She darted back to her apartment and switched to (amateur) detective mode.

If a thief had been here, he or she had gotten in from somewhere. She glanced around. The window! No, entering from there required Spiderman-like abilities (or suicidal tendencies). Besides, she always kept it locked from the inside. To have fresh air, she’d open the balcony’s glass door.

Wait, that was it.

She stepped out onto the balcony, her eyes drifting to her left. Right! The gap between the balconies was tiny. Even a kid could jump or crawl over it. Which meant that …

Sanae darted back into her apartment and locked the glass door. Done. The Sanity Thief wouldn’t bother her anymore.

Something sitting on her belly brought Sanae from the realm of sleep. Strange, she didn’t have a dog or a cat (she was allergic to both). Was she still dreaming? Dreaming of being woken by a pet?

She sat up to see what was on top of her. She could hardly believe it.

Her sand-colored sandals.

Sanae grabbed them and crawled off the bed. This was definitely an antic by The Sanity Thief.

She replaced the sandals in the entryway, where they belonged. As she did, she stared at the door. Could The Sanity Thief have come in from here? Impossible. This type of door couldn’t be opened with a pin or a screwdriver. Only with a key. Which only she possessed. Someone must’ve made a copy — but who? Not her family. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to any of them since that fight she didn’t want to remember.

What about her ex? Sanae had confiscated his key after their war-like break-up. He couldn’t have opened the door — unless he’d made a copy before they parted ways and was now messing with her head to take revenge. No, that didn’t make sense. He’d been the one who’d severed their relationship; her apartment was the last place on earth he’d visit. Also, he’d already moved every ounce of his life out of it.

But just in case …

Sanae took her phone from her desk and tapped the number she hated but that, for a reason that escaped her, she hadn’t been able to delete. Then she sat on the bed, releasing a resigned sigh.

“What do you want?” Eisuke asked, his version of How are you? At least after the warmth in their relationship turned into wrath.

“Nothing from you,” Sanae said. “I just want to ask you a question.”

“That still counts as wanting something from me. Anyway, what is it?”

“Have you … been near my apartment lately?”

“How near?”

“Near enough to be inside of it.”

Eisuke groaned. “Look, I don’t want another of your crazy talks. I had to listen to them for two years.”

“Why am I the crazy one, not you?”

“Maybe I am. You almost drove me nuts, like you’re doing now. Happy? Can I hang up?”

“Wait, don’t go yet,” Sanae blurted. “Let me explain more.”

She told Eisuke about The Sanity Thief, trying to sound as mentally stable as she could.

“Great,” he said, “now you have an imaginary friend. Not surprising since you don’t have any real ones.”

“Imaginary friends don’t move things around!” Sanae shouted. “And this isn’t a friend, but a thief.”

Eisuke sighed with defeat. “Look, this is what I think, based on my experience putting up with your crap. You are the one who’s moving things around. I have no idea whether you’re doing it consciously or subconsciously. Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is why.”

Sanae gulped dry air. “You mean I’m developing dementia or Alzheimer’s disease?”

“What I mean is, you created this imaginary thief so there would be a presence in your apartment. So you wouldn’t feel alone.”

A tickling sensation bubbled up in her chest, finally coming out as laughter. “Are you sure I’m the insane one? That’s the craziest theory I’ve ever heard!”

“It’s not the theory that’s crazy.”

“Anyway, you don’t have proof.”

“You’re right. Bye.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Sanae screamed, but it was too late.

He’d already hung up.

As soon as wakefulness came to her, Sanae sat up and surveyed the room. Her mug, laptop, sandals — everything was in place. Could it be …? Yes, The Sanity Thief, for one reason or another, had decided to leave her alone. Perhaps, after all, the culprit had been Eisuke, who stopped messing with her after finding out she suspected him and figuring she could call the police.

With a sigh, she threw herself back and cat-stretched. Then she yawned, perhaps too heavily because her eyes were teary now.

By the way, I’m writing a novel. If you want to know when it’ll be released, click here.