A Young Man Started Visiting My 83-Year-Old Neighbor – One Day, I Entered Her House and Was Horrified
PART 1
I had known Dorothy nearly my entire life, so when a young stranger began visiting her house every day, I tried not to interfere.
Dorothy was eighty-three and had lived next door since before I was born. After her husband died, she became more than a neighbor. She was the woman who watched me when my mother worked late, made grilled cheese when I refused dinner, and sat beside me during thunderstorms.
As I grew older, our roles changed. I brought groceries, cleaned the rooms she struggled to manage, carried her laundry, and checked on her several times a week.
Our routine continued until one Tuesday evening.
I arrived with bread, fruit, and her favorite tea, but Dorothy opened the door only halfway. Her gray hair had been carefully brushed, and there was a strange brightness in her expression.
“You don’t need to visit anymore,” she said. “I have Alex now.”
“Who is Alex?”
“He’s a delivery driver. He brought me a package, and we fell in love.”
I waited for her to laugh, but she remained serious. Before I could ask anything else, she took the groceries and closed the door.
Two days later, I saw Alex leaving her house.
He looked barely twenty, dressed in faded jeans and worn sneakers. When he saw me, he said, “You must be Greta.” The fact that he knew my name unsettled me.
Over the next two weeks, Dorothy disappeared from view. She stopped collecting her mail and answering my calls. Alex came and went almost daily, sometimes staying overnight. Soon, I saw him unlocking her door with his own key.
Whenever I called Dorothy, I received the same message:
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
It did not sound like her. Dorothy usually wrote long messages full of advice and unnecessary details. These replies were identical and unnatural.
Then a package meant for Dorothy was delivered to my porch.
I carried it next door and knocked repeatedly.
No answer.
I called her name.
Silence.
I retrieved the emergency key she had given me years earlier and entered.
The house was spotless—too spotless. Everything looked arranged and untouched.
Neither Dorothy nor Alex was there.
Then I heard a faint knocking beneath the floor.
It came from the basement.
