I was 17. It was the weekend and I was doing an essay. At that time, we just moved to a townhouse: my mother, my brother, and me (my dad was on a business trip). Around midnight I decided to sleep and just continue my essay the next day. I left my laptop on my desk, and my phone by my pillow since I set an alarm.

The next morning I woke on my own accord, and sleepily groped around for my phone to check the time. Couldn't feel it. I sat up. No phone. I turned over my pillows and checked the floor around the bed. Nada. Turns out: the laptop was not on my desk anymore.

I went downstairs to see if my mother or brother took it down for some reason. Saw on the dining room clock that it was barely seven. Also, on the dining room table: a knife. And beyond the stairs: the front door was ajar. (We always lock the front door.)

I closed it and ran upstairs. One of the scariest moments in my life was that morning when I ran from room to room to check if my mother and brother were still breathing. (Later we realised that their phones as well as some cameras were taken too.)

We had an investigating team over, as well as the owners of the townhouse, but nothing came of it. I'm just thankful we were all right. Until today my mother is wondering whether some chemical put us to sleep because no one of us woke up the entire night (she usually wakes up to use the upstairs toilet, my brother wakes up to drink).

All of this made me really paranoid in triple checking gates and front doors, and even locking my own bedroom.