Have posted this story in /r/letsnotmeet before but thought if would fit well here too.

This happened nearly five years ago now but unfortunately the memory remains very ingrained in my mind. Bit of context to get started, I live in a medium sized city that, in 2011, was badly affected by a strong earthquake. Around 200 were killed and a large portion of the city's older buildings were either outright destroyed or deemed uninhabitable. One such building was the affectionately coined mental rehabilitation centre, 'Sunnyside'. Naturally, having a significant number of mentally ill patients without a roof over their head only exacerbated the city's problems at this stage and short term solutions were desperately in need. From my understanding, hospitals with the necessary facilities took the bulk of the load, while other temporary hospices and homestays were forced to become somewhat more of a permanent fixture even if they lacked the security that previously would have been a necessity to house these patients. I would later come to learn that one of these temporary hospices was less than a block from my house. My house, along with the majority of the houses on my street, back on to a small creek, which runs through our suburb. It is relatively common for neighbours to wade down the creek to visit those who live a few houses along or on the other embankment and virtually none of the properties have a back fence which prevents access. So, it's about four weeks after the initial quake and things are beginning to return to some sense of normality, we're still being forced to use a communal portaloo out on the road but in general, we are on the mend. It was a Sunday night and I had gone to bed early because tomorrow was going to be my first day back at work in almost a month. At some point in the night (I later found out it was around 1:30AM) I began to stir as I realised the soft laughter I was hearing in my dreams was actually a physical, real life laugh. It was very faint, childlike almost, a giggle. Sitting up my dreary state, I assumed my brother had left the television on in the lounge. So, dragging myself out of bed, I staggered down the hallway to switch it off. However, as I approach the living room I soon realise that the laughter isn't increasing in volume and upon reaching the room I confirm that indeed there is no TV or radio producing any sound. Suddenly feeling a bit foolish, I make my way back towards my room where I hear no further giggling. Passing it off as my sleep deprived brain playing tricks on me, I get back into bed and soon fall asleep. An hour later I was again stirred awake, this time by the soft plucking of my steel string guitar, which I keep in my office at the other end of the hall. No discernible melody, just random touches. Feeling very frustrated at this point for being woken twice in one night I immediately fling myself out of bed, determined to find the source of these irritating noises. Before I even make it two steps towards the door, the noise comes to abrupt halt, and I realise that it too, was coming from my room. More perplexed than angry at this point I whirl around to see what could possibly be producing this noise and all at once I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Sitting in the corner of my room, crossed legged, on a puddle of wet carpet, is a large, shaggy man, wearing soaked clothes and holding my guitar. A million simultaneous thoughts go through my mind at this instant, the obvious 'What the fuck', 'Who the fuck' and 'How the fuck' were very prevalent but also more bizarre thought processes like 'god it annoys me when people touch my guitar without asking'. All logical thought seemed to come to a complete standstill at that point and for whatever reason, some deep seated social queue came roaring to life and my mouth sputtered out the words: "Wou.. Would you like a cup of tea?" Because you know, obviously the first thing you do when someone comes to your house is offer them a cup of tea, right? The man seems pleased with this interaction, he perks up and nods brightly. Finally, the rational part of my brain awakens from its coma and I turn and sprint from the room, slamming it shut behind me. I scream for my brother to call the police while holding onto the door handle with all my might, dreading the desperate struggle that was sure to happen. "There's a man in my fucking room!" He comes running and once seeing the look of terror on my face, does not waste time in making the call. While listening to him give the operator our address and pleading with them to hurry I hear a soft knock knock on the other side of the door. "No sugar, please" The word 'bamboozled' comes to mind when I think about this moment. I fully expected to reach down, pinch my arm and awaken from the most vivid dream of my life. The police arrived not long after (there were many patrols to deter looters) and my brother led them to me and the end of the hall, my knuckles turning white on the doorknob. After mentally bracing myself, I let go of the handle and lept backwards, letting the policemen do their thing. They rushed into the room, tasers drawn, shouting at this home invader to show himself. Their aggression was short lived however and I was still close enough to see why. The man was simply sitting on the edge of my bed now, amusing himself by playing with one of my figurines. I think the officers were also taken aback by this as they halted for a second before continuing, a touch more gingerly. To cut a rather long winded story short and to confirm what you probably have already deduced. Yes, this man was a mental patient who had slipped out of his temporary hospice and waded along the river looking for houses to explore. Muddy footprints on my neighbour's decks confirmed that he had originally tried to enter their homes, I was simply the one foolish enough to leave his unlocked. The police took him away and they later gave me a follow up call to say that he had been put in a much more secure location but that I should still be a lot more vigilant when it comes to securing my house. In hindsight, I believe this man was totally harmless, ill yes, obviously. But not malicious, there was ample opportunity (shudder) when he could have harmed me, had this been his intent, but he did not do so. He simply took my unlocked door as an invitation to come in. I did not press charges as I did not want to damage the life of an already damaged person. The incident left me pretty shaken up, excuse the earthquake pun, for quite some time and I still struggle falling asleep sometimes. But for the most part, I have moved on. There is one thing that I have not been able to let go of however, I believe this one detail has left a permanent scar on my psyche. As the police were leading the man from my house, he uttered a short giggle, the same one I had heard when I was awoken originally. "The man couldn't find me under his bed!"