The Night My Neighbor Didn’t Answer
I wasn’t planning to check on my neighbor that night. I wasn’t planning anything, really — just finishing homework and trying not to fall asleep on my desk. But around 9:15 p.m., I heard something outside my window.
A thud. Then another. Then silence.
I peeked outside.
My neighbor’s porch light — the one that was always on — was off.
That was weird. He never turned it off. Ever.
His name was Eli. Quiet. Kind. Always waved when he saw me. Never caused trouble.
Something felt wrong.
I grabbed my hoodie and stepped outside. The air was colder than it should’ve been, like the whole street was holding its breath. Eli’s house looked normal… except for one thing.
His front door was cracked open.
Just barely. Just enough to make my stomach twist.
“Eli?” I called softly.
No answer.
I pushed the door open a little more. “Eli, are you okay?”
Still nothing.
I stepped inside. The living room was dark except for the glow of the TV, paused on some nature documentary. A mug sat on the coffee table, still steaming.
He had been here recently.
“Eli?” I tried again.
Then I saw it.
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His phone was lying on the floor near the hallway — screen cracked, buzzing with notifications. I picked it up, and a message flashed across the screen.
“He’s here.”
My heart dropped.
Before I could react, the hallway light flickered. Once. Twice.
Then it went out.
I froze.
A soft creak echoed from deeper inside the house.
Someone was here.
I backed toward the door, but the phone buzzed again in my hand.
A new message.
“Jo, don’t scream.”
My breath caught.
Someone knew I was here. Someone was watching me. And they new my name.
I spun around, scanning the darkness — but the house was silent.
Then another message appeared.
“You weren’t supposed to find this.”
My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone.
And then the final message came.
“Run.”
