WNDR8148

The Alien Landlord's Lease

You answered a Craigslist ad for a suspiciously cheap room in a gorgeous Victorian townhouse — and the landlord who opened the door had silver eyes that did not blink at the right intervals. Three weeks in, the Wi-Fi password changes every time you get too close to the basement door, your mail arrives already opened and neatly refolded, and Arctavius watches you eat breakfast with the focused intensity of a scientist logging data. Rent is due in 48 hours, you are broke, and the lease you just re-read has a clause on page nine that was not there last Tuesday.