For nearly a month, the boy next door waved at me every single day, his eyes hollow, and his expression unnerving. When I finally mustered the courage to knock on the door, the chilling reality that awaited me changed everything.
Every afternoon, I’d catch a glimpse of the boy through my living room window. He couldn’t have been more than six, standing at the cracked window of the old house next door, his hand moving in a slow wave. His eyes, deep and sorrowful, locked onto mine with a kind of desperation I couldn’t ignore. Why did he wave at me like that? What did he want?
The boy waved again as I stood, staring, unable to shake the unsettling feeling creeping over me. My husband, Max, was in the kitchen, preparing coffee. “Hey, Max,” I called. “That kid is at it again.”
Max walked over, glancing briefly out the window. “The one you’ve been talking about?” he asked.
I nodded, biting my lip. “There’s something so… off about him. I can’t explain it.”
Max frowned and turned back to the kitchen. “Maybe he’s just looking for attention, Nora. You’re overthinking it. Kids wave all the time.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Maybe. But I feel like there’s more. Like he’s asking for help.”
Max came over, draped an arm around my shoulder, and kissed my temple. “You’ve always had a soft heart. If it bothers you that much, why don’t you go over there and see if everything’s okay?”
I nodded, but dread curled in my stomach. Going over there felt… dangerous, somehow. “Maybe I will.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The boy’s image haunted me, his eyes pleading, his small hand frozen in that unnatural wave. In my dreams, he was calling out to me, his voice faint but filled with fear. “Don’t leave me,” he cried. “Please don’t go.”
I jolted awake, sweat drenching my skin. Max stirred beside me, his voice groggy. “Nora? Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard. “It’s the kid again. I dreamed about him.”
Max sighed, pulling me close. “It’s probably just your imagination. If you’re this worried, maybe we should go talk to his parents tomorrow.”
The next morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. After pacing the house for hours, I glanced out the window and, like clockwork, there he was, staring at me. I grabbed my coat.
“I’m going over there, Max,” I said. “Something isn’t right.”
Max looked concerned. “Are you sure? Want me to come with you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to know.”
The short walk to the dilapidated house felt like miles. My palms were clammy as I approached the front door, its paint chipped and peeling. I hesitated for a moment before knocking.
Silence.
I knocked again. This time, I heard soft footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, revealing a woman, her face gaunt and tired.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice raspy.
I cleared my throat. “Hi, I’m Nora from next door. I’ve noticed your son waving at me a lot… I just wanted to check if everything’s okay.”
The woman’s face froze, her eyes widening. “My son?” Her voice trembled.
Before I could respond, a shadow moved behind her. A small boy stepped into view, the same boy who had been waving at me for weeks. He looked up at me, his eyes full of sadness.
But then the woman turned sharply toward him. “You shouldn’t be here!” she snapped. She grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from the door.
“Wait!” I blurted out. “What’s going on?”
The woman glared at me, her face pale. “You don’t understand. He’s not my son.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean? Who is he?”
She shook her head, stepping back as if terrified. “He’s… not real.”
I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. “What do you mean ‘not real’?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “That boy… he died. Years ago. He’s just… a memory. You’re not the first to see him.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
She stepped aside, allowing me to see into the dimly lit house. Photos lined the walls—photos of the boy, frozen in time, his face identical to the one I’d seen waving from the window.
“He was my son,” the woman whispered, her voice cracking. “He drowned in the lake behind the house. After that, sometimes people see him… but he’s gone. He’s been gone for five years.”
I stumbled back, my mind racing. I had seen him. I had been waving at a ghost.
The woman wiped her eyes, her hands trembling. “I don’t know why you can see him. But if you do… maybe he’s asking you for something. Something I couldn’t give him.”
I stared at the boy, who stood there silently, his hand no longer waving. For the first time, his lips moved, but no sound came out. His eyes, full of sorrow, locked onto mine one last time before he faded, disappearing into the shadows of the house.
I turned and ran, my heart racing as I stumbled back to my own home. Max opened the door before I could even knock, concern etched on his face. “Nora? What happened?”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I collapsed into his arms. “The boy… Max, he’s gone. He’s been dead for years.”
Max looked at me in disbelief. “What? Are you sure?”
I nodded, still shaking. “His mother told me. I don’t know how… but I saw him. I’ve been seeing him. He’s been trying to reach me.”
Max held me tightly, his voice low. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
But as I stood there, wrapped in his arms, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy had been asking for something more—something I hadn’t yet understood.
The next day, I went back to the house. The door was locked, and there was no sign of the woman or the boy. The house had been empty for years, the neighbors told me. No one had lived there since the boy’s death.
As I stared at the house, I felt a deep sorrow settle over me. I didn’t know what he wanted. But I knew one thing for certain—I would never forget the boy next door who had waved at me every day, asking for help I could never give.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real locations is purely coincidental.
