I'm not alone

A friend of a friend of mine (yes, that's right), according to the latter, has a weakness: she's incredibly fond of herbal remedies. She'll brew plantain for a rash, or apply burdock to her head. And so this folk remedy treatment led her to a certain old witch. She immediately took our woman into her lap: she brewed potions for every occasion, sold her aromatic oils by the liter, and ground up walnut shells for her to protect from leering people. She gained her trust so much that the woman even started inviting her to her home. She wanders around the three-room apartment, whispers in the corners, makes hand gestures...

One day, this witch began asking for a night's stay—she's tired of traveling so far, she says, let me stay the night, spread out a blanket for her, and I'll leave in the morning.  The woman, though she trusted the old woman, still refused, saying, "I have my own way of life and habits, accustomed to living alone." The old woman snorted angrily and, already at the threshold, said strangely, "Not alone anymore."

From that night on, the woman began to be bothered by strange noises in the apartment. They always came from the closet where she kept her bed linens. And one evening, the poor woman nearly went crazy with fear: she made the bed and went to the kitchen, returning to find the entire bed rumpled, as if rhinoceroses had been jumping on it. With trembling hands, she straightened everything out, went to the bathroom, returned, and saw that the blanket on the bed was curling and uncurling itself. From corner to corner, it was like a tube.

It must have been hard for the poor woman. How she survived this bed disgrace is unknown.  A friend promised to check with the story's heroine at work to see how things were going. But I don't think her dill water or wild garlic tincture would help the woman in this particular case.