I Found My Younger Brother's Hidden USB Drive — It Showed Someone Wandering Around Our House at Night

After returning home, Sarah discovers her teen brother's hidden USB drive, which reveals shocking surveillance footage of their mother's strange behavior. Now, they must confront her denials and find help before their family falls apart.

The six-hour drive to my hometown left me with a stiff neck and an empty coffee thermos. But I was doing it because of Mom's call yesterday.

"Sarah, honey, I need some help around the house."

She hadn't elaborated, but the slight tremor in her voice told me that I needed to get on the road. So I packed a bag, called in some vacation days at work, and went on my way before sunrise.

Our suburban neighborhood looked frozen in time. The same oak trees lined the streets, where houses with perfectly manicured lawns stood.

Our old neighbor, Elaine, still had her garden gnome collection. Her husband's classic Mustang sat in the driveway, still waiting for a restoration that would never come. It was comforting to see that so little had changed.

The house key was under the ceramic frog, right where it had always been. Inside, the familiar scent of Mom's lavender air freshener mixed with another odor—staleness, as if the windows hadn't been opened in weeks.

"Mom?" I called out, dropping my overnight bag in the entryway.

She appeared from the laundry room, looking smaller than I remembered. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, which she tried to hide with carefully applied makeup.

"Sarah! I didn't expect you so early." She pulled me into a quick hug, then immediately turned to straighten a stack of mail on the counter.

The house felt oddly quiet. Usually, the sound of video games or my brother's music floated down from upstairs.

"Where's Caleb?"

Mom's shoulders tensed. "He's staying with his father for a while. We had a disagreement."

"About what?"

"Oh, you know, teenagers." She waved her hand dismissively, not meeting my eyes. "Always making something out of nothing."

"Okay, and what do you need help with?" I asked, looking around a bit confused. Despite the smell, the house wasn't exactly messy.

"Well, I need help cleaning up, and then, getting some things down from the attic to donate," my mom explained, and her hands suddenly touched her lower back. "My back has been hurting lately for some reason, and I just can't do it alone."

"Let me guess, Caleb didn't want to help? Is that why you fought?" I asked.

"Oh, sure. Something like that," she answered but refused to meet my eyes. "Speaking of Caleb, would you mind cleaning his room? That boy never does it himself."

"Sure," I nodded and went to the laundry room for supplies.

***

Caleb's room looked like a tornado had swept through it, but I suppose that was to be expected. He was 16 now, and I had moved away for college almost eight years earlier. It was that sad that I didn't know him that much anymore.

I knew he liked gaming, but not to the point of covering the entire wall space in posters. He had also gotten pretty messy, with all his dirty clothes in piles everywhere. Yuck. It also smelled… like teenage hormones in there.

So, I started with the bookshelf, organizing his scattered manga collection by series. That's when it happened. My elbow caught the edge of a ceramic vase depicting an anime character, and it went crashing onto the hardwood floor.

"Great," I muttered, kneeling to clean up the mess. But among the debris, I saw a small black USB drive.

With a grin, I pulled out my phone and called Caleb. It rang twice before he answered.

"Ooh, baby brother," I teased when he answered. "Guess what I found in your room? Prepare for all your deepest, darkest secrets to be revealed... just kidding... mostly." I laughed, but then I explained that I had broken his collectible and found the USB drive.

I was expecting him to grovel; to beg me not to look at the files. Instead, Caleb's voice turned deadly serious. "BE SURE TO LOOK AT WHAT'S ON THE FLASH DRIVE!" The urgency in his voice made my smile fade. "I'm not kidding around, okay? It's important."

"What's going on?"

"Just watch it, Sarah. Please."

"Oh, su-sure," I stuttered and hung up.

I was about to go find my laptop when my mother called from downstairs. "Sarah! Come help me with something in the kitchen," Mom said.

"Sure!" I replied and slipped the drive into my pocket. I didn't think about the USB drive again that night.

***

I woke to strange noises. The digital clock on my nightstand read 1:30 a.m. Faint voices and shuffling sounds echoed through the house. I lay in my old bed, trying to convince myself it was just the house settling or the neighbor's cat.

But something felt wrong like the air itself had changed.

At breakfast, I decided to test the waters. "Mom, did you happen to hear anything unusual last night? Just... faint noises, maybe?"

The change was instant. Her hand slammed down on the table, coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug onto the surface. "Oh, you're a grown woman! Why are you listening to your 16-year-old brother?!"

I stared at her, confused. "What? Mom, I don't know what you're talking about. What does this have to do with Caleb?"

"First him, and now you're in on the joke. It's really not funny!" Her voice rose sharply, face flushing red.

"What joke? I don't understand."

"Enough! I don't want to hear ANOTHER THING about noises at night, okay?"

"Okay, okay," I said.

Five minutes later, I called my brother again, but it went to voicemail. That's when I finally remembered the USB drive and rushed to my laptop.

Dozens of video files filled the screen, all dated within the past month. Each showed different areas of our house at night, like the living room with its familiar floral couch, the hallway with its family photos, and the kitchen with dishes still drying on the rack.

I clicked on a few and nothing seemed amiss. I wondered when my brother had installed cameras in the house.

Then, in a video from last Tuesday, around 1:45 a.m., I saw movement: a shadow in the hall. I leaned closer to the screen, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Someone stepped into the living room, and my mouth dropped open. It wasn't an intruder. It was Mom.

She stood perfectly still in the center of the room, her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her movements were slow and mechanical, like a puppet on strings. She hovered near the coffee table for several minutes, then turned, hitting herself on her lower back, and went into her room.

My phone rang, making me jump. Caleb.

"Did you watch it?" he asked without greeting.

"Yeah." I swallowed hard. "Did you show this to Mom?"

He laughed bitterly. "Are you kidding? She wouldn't even let me try. That's why I left. She kept saying I was making things up about noises, being dramatic."

"Yeah, I heard the noises, and I hadn't seen the videos yet, so I asked her," I sighed. "She went crazy and wouldn't explain."

"But you saw it, right? The way she moves? It's weird, but she's also hurting herself. Accidentally."

"Yeah," I replied. That's why Mom had asked for help and why her back hurt. Who knows what else could happen at night? "We need to do something."

I spent the rest of the day researching sleepwalking and its possible treatments. An hour before dinner, I found her in the kitchen, aggressively mixing a pot of sauce.

"Mom, do you ever sleepwalk?" I said, seeing no point in beating around the bush.

She scoffed. "This again? No. Don't be dramatic. You and your brother are making things up."

"Mom, I have proof," I said, opening my laptop.

"I don't want to see whatever nonsense is in that machine," she said, shaking her head and focusing intensely on the sauce. "I'm getting old, not crazy!"

"Mom, please," I begged, backing her into the countertop corner and pushing the laptop toward her face. "Just watch."

She couldn't avoid it anymore.

I realized that this wasn't the reaction of someone hiding something. It was pure, genuine shock.

"I don't remember that," she whispered.

"There are more, Mom," I revealed. "Tons of them. Caleb installed cameras because he was worried about you."

"I don't remember any of it," she said in the smallest voice. "I thought he was just being bratty."

"Don't worry," I continued, wrapping her in my arms. "Caleb is coming home tomorrow, and we're going to figure this out."

***

Caleb arrived, and Mom apologized to him for their disagreement.

Caleb arrived, and Mom apologized to him for their disagreement. Over the next few weeks, we went to several doctor's appointments and sleep studies. We learned about sleep disorders, their triggers, and their treatments.

The cameras came down as Mom started therapy and medication, but something else grew in their place: trust. She learned to trust us with her treatment, even Caleb.

She was used to being the caretaker, but she needed us now. I was confident it wouldn't be a permanent situation; the first rounds of treatment went marvelously.

But I had to make a choice. I called my work and applied for a transfer. Luckily, they had a branch much closer to home, so I decided to commute. I didn't move back home because I was young and still craved my independence; instead, I got an apartment five minutes away from home.

Being much closer made me feel better. Caleb could call me in case of an emergency. It might be a cliché, but family always comes first.

Here's another story: For eight years, Clover has kept Sanctum Noctis hidden, a secret safe house for children with nowhere else to go. But when one of them makes a mistake, she's forced into a deadly game with Michael... the man she once escaped. This time, she's not running. This time, she fights.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.