I Discovered That When You Peek Into A Room You Just Left, People Aren't Actually Moving or Talking

Try it the next time you get a chance. Engage someone with conversation—wife, brother, whomever—and really get them going. Make sure they're talking when you walk out of the room. It's probably best to ask an open-ended question before leaving.

"By the way, what did you think of that [Insert Film]?" — Something like that, nothing that allows a quick answer.

Ever since I first did it, I haven't been able to replicate what happened, and I have a theory as to why, but first—let me tell you what happened.

I was talking to my wife one morning in our bedroom. She was getting ready for work, and I had just woken up. I needed to use the bathroom, but I remember sitting on the bed and asking her what was going on at her school that day (she's a teacher).

That got her going. She started raving about a famous writer visiting the elementary that morning. She wouldn't stop.

I remember getting up and walking out of the room. My wife was still getting dressed—and our son's bedroom was next door—so it's a habit for me to close the door behind myself.

As I was closing it, she was still talking excitedly.

"And he said he's going to donate a copy of his book to all the—"

I left the door ajar. It was the tiniest crack, barely a sliver of bedroom sunlight peeking through.

I only closed the door slowly because I wanted to hear what she was saying, but damn, I had to piss badly. Thought I could sit through her speech, but it was going too long.

Right when the door had that minuscule crevice between it and the doorframe, I saw, with one eye squeezed against the sliver of light, my wife leaning over the dresser, one hand in the drawer. And she stayed like that.

Not a muscle twitch. I waited and waited, but she just wouldn't move. Not an inch.

But I could still hear her voice. Still as excited, still yelping.

"—and then after that, we'll be having a picnic with him!!"

It was her voice, but I was looking straight at her. Her lips weren't moving. She was leaned over our oakwood dresser, the sunlight turning her exposed back golden as she froze in place while digging for a blouse.

There was another voice. Not a woman's. Not a man's. I can't describe it. I simply can't.

But I distinctly remember some other voice saying—and I quote— "Oh shit."

Suddenly, my wife started moving again. She yanked the blouse from the drawer, turned to me, and said, "Are you even listening?"

I opened and cracked the door countless times after that, but it never happened again.

I think because I consciously try to redo it, it won't work. Whoever's at the controls—or whatever—is aware of my efforts. They won't mess up again.

But maybe one of you can slip under the radar.