The first bump didn’t scare me. The pattern did. By the second night in my friend’s old apartment, my skin felt like a map of something gone wrong. Tiny, angry clusters appeared where my body touched the mattress, each itch a quiet alarm I tried to ignore. I hadn’t changed my soap, my food, my routine—only my surroundings. That’s when the unease started to grow. Old walls, old carpets, old furniture… and suddenly, my own body was reacting like it had discovered a secret I couldn’t see. Some bumps faded, others throbbed longer, pulsing with irritation every time I scratched. I lay awake wondering: was it bugs, mold, chemicals—or something worse hiding in the dark? My skin knew before I did, and by the time I finally listened, the message was impossible to mis
Those days taught me that unfamiliar spaces can leave marks long after you’ve gone. Old apartments often carry invisible histories: bed bugs tucked in mattress seams, fleas in worn carpets, dust mites in pillows, mold spores in the walls, or chemical residues soaked into fabric. You don’t see them—but your skin does, especially at night, when you’re still and unprotected.
