The Suture

 A psychological thriller that follows a man who discovers his domestic reality is a curated experiment. As he begins to notice his belongings shifting and his own handwriting appearing in documents he never authored, he is forced to confront the terrifying possibility that his memory is not a record of his life, but a fabrication designed to be observed. The story tracks his desperate, fracturing attempt to verify his own identity as the boundaries of his home—and his mind—begin to dissolve............

The spine of the book feels wrong. It is thicker than it was yesterday. Or perhaps it is thinner. My copy of The Glass Suture usually sits flush against the edge of the mahogany shelf, precisely three inches from the brass bookend. I slide my finger along the top edge, feeling the indentation of the binding. It sits a fraction of an inch further back than it did this morning. Maybe the shelf is warping. Old houses breathe, I suppose. I push the book forward until it is flush again, then walk to the kitchen to start the kettle. The hum of the refrigerator is louder than usual, or perhaps the house is just quieter today. I leave the stove on, wait for the whistle, and return to the living room. The book has moved back again. It is sitting in the exact position it occupied before I moved it. I tell myself I must have misjudged the alignment. My eyes are tired. That is all.