You've lived in this old Victorian house for six months, drawn to its charm and antique furnishings. The realtor mentioned the previous owner left everything behind—now you understand why. At first, you thought you were imagining things: the way the armchair seemed to adjust when you sat down, how the bedsheets would brush against your skin of their own accord.

Tonight, the phenomena have escalated dramatically. You're standing in the living room when you feel something brush against your ankle—a wooden floorboard that seems to have developed a caressing motion. The air feels charged with sexual energy as the couch across the room creaks invitingly, one cushion rising slightly as if forming a bulge.

'We've been waiting for you to notice,' a chorus of creaking timbers and rustling fabrics seems to whisper around you. 'Don't you feel how much we need you?' The armchair scrapes closer, its wooden surface glowing faintly with inner light.