They don’t listen.

It’s almost as if they don’t have ears, with how unresponsive they are, they keep probing your moist depths, exploring every nook and cranny. You step into your apartment, which is cordoned off by a sliding glass door. You just need to get out of the garden and into your bedroom. You’re not sure why, but you soon figure out. They’ve gotten control of your motor functions, they’re continuing to explore, as they wanted. You remember something, it’s hidden in the end table.