The Girl Next Door

When Michelle and her family moved into the old white house on Country Meadow Lane, she didn’t expect much excitement. Her parents were thrilled about the quiet neighborhood and had gotten a hell of a deal on their beautiful new home, but Michelle was annoyed. She didn’t want to be the new kid. She didn’t want to go through the awkward process of making new friends. She was lonely.

That was until she saw the girl next door.

The house beside theirs was a crumbling Victorian, its shutters hanging crooked and ivy strangling the porch rails. Michelle had never seen anyone come or go, until one afternoon, a girl appeared in the yard. She wore a faded blue dress and had long, dark hair that shimmered oddly in the sunlight.

Her name was Rebecca.

From that day on, Michelle and Rebecca played every afternoon. Hopscotch on the cracked sidewalk, hide and seek in the overgrown hedges, drawing chalk flowers under the gnarled oak tree. But Rebecca never left her yard. Not once.

Michelle’s mom noticed and suggested Rebecca come over. Michelle asked, but Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not allowed to leave my yard,” she whispered. "Not ever." She continued on with her chalk doodle and Michelle dropped it. For now.

As the days passed, Rebecca shared more things Michelle found strange. When Michelle pulled out her cellphone to check the time, Rebecca stared at it like it was magic. Her fingers trembled as she touched the screen. “Wanna take a picture?” Michelle asked excitedly. "That's a camera?" Rebecca asked. Michelle laughed. "Rebecca... it's a cell phone." She smiled. "I love you, you're like a Martian." She showed Rebecca all the different apps and games she had on her phone before coming back to the camera. "Come on," she giggled, "Let's take a picture!" Rebecca shook her head. “No. I have to go,” she whispered. "I have a headache." Rebecca got headaches a lot. Bad ones. She would often vanish mid-game, clutching her head, leaving Michelle confused and alone.

One cloudy afternoon, Rebecca didn’t come out. Michelle waited for over an hour, but when Rebecca still hadn't shown any sign of coming outside to play, she decided to check on her. The front door of Rebecca’s house was usually locked, but today it creaked open. Michelle stepped inside. The air was heavy, and the wallpaper was peeling like old skin. Dust floated around like snowflakes in the dim light. Michelle tiptoed through the hallway until she heard soft sobs. Rebecca was curled in a corner, crying.

“I tried to go into the room,” she said between sobs. “The one I’m never allowed in. Mom got mad.” “Why aren’t you allowed?” Michelle asked. “I don’t know,” Rebecca whispered. “She just screams at me.” Michelle looked down the hallway. “Let’s go.”

Rebecca hesitated, then nodded. She wiped away her tears and stood up to take Michelle's hand and lead her to the room. The door was old; its paint cracked like dry dirt. Michelle tried the knob. It was locked. Together, they pushed. The wood groaned. Something snapped and the door creaked open. Inside was a small, dusty room filled with old furniture. A child’s drawings were scattered on the floor. And in the center, a dark stain on the carpet.

Rebecca gasped.

A flood of memories hit her like a wave. Her mother. The fight. The hammer. The pain. The silence.

“I’m dead,” Rebecca said, her voice hollow. “She killed me. Michelle! I'm dead!” Tears poured from Rebecca's glistening eyes. Michelle backed away, heart pounding. “She didn’t mean to,” Rebecca sobbed. “She cried. She held me. But it was too late.”

The room had held it all. The truth, the memory, the moment time stopped. It had been sealed for years, a vault of guilt and grief.

Suddenly, the house groaned. The temperature dropped. A shadow moved.

Rebecca’s mother.

Her ghost emerged from the darkness, twisted and contorted, her eyes sunken and wild. Her mouth opened in a scream that shattered the silence like glass. The walls pulsed with her fury. Lights flickered. The floorboards buckled. Michelle grabbed Rebecca’s hand. “Run!” She screamed.

They fled through the hallway, the house shifting around them. Doors slammed. The wallpaper peeled in strips as if the house itself was unraveling. Pictures flew from the walls and exploded into a mess of glass and splinters. The ghost chased them, her voice a chorus of rage and regret. “You shouldn’t have opened it!” she shrieked. “You shouldn’t have remembered!”

The air thickened. Michelle’s legs felt like lead. Rebecca stumbled, her form flickering like a dying flame. They reached the staircase, but it twisted upward like a spiral of thorns. The house was fighting them. Michelle turned to Rebecca. “You have to fight it. You have to let go.” Rebecca nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I’m trying.”

The ghost lunged, her hands clawing through the air. Michelle screamed as the walls closed in. But Rebecca stepped forward. “No more,” she said. Her voice was steady. Strong. The ghost froze. “You hurt me. You hurt yourself. But it’s over.” The house groaned. The ghost wailed, her form unraveling like smoke. She reached for Rebecca one last time, but Rebecca didn’t flinch.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

The ghost shrieked, then collapsed into ash. The walls stopped moving. The air cleared. The house exhaled. Rebecca turned to Michelle. Her form shimmered, glowing softly. “I’m free.” She smiled through tears of joy.

Michelle reached out, but Rebecca was already fading. “Thank you,” Rebecca said. “For remembering me.” And then she vanished into a cascade of stardust.

Michelle stood in the yard, soaked with sweat and shaking with fear. The old house was silent now. Empty.

The forbidden room had held the truth buried beneath dust and silence and sealed away by grief. And when it was finally opened, it unraveled everything.

Michelle never saw Rebecca again. The yard next door grew quiet. The ivy overtook the porch. The house stood still, as if holding its breath. Michelle missed the girl who had once made the loneliness bearable. But she wasn't afraid anymore. She knew Rebecca was free... and that was enough.