Can you believe my neighbor didn’t let anyone see her newborn son for three whole years? I mean, seriously, no one. Not her friends, not her family, not even a quick glimpse during neighborhood gatherings. Every time someone asked about him, she’d smile politely and say, “Oh, he’s sleeping,” or “Maybe next time.” It was odd, but no one pressed her too hard.

The longer it went on, the more everyone started whispering. What was she hiding? Why the secrecy? Some people thought maybe the baby had a medical condition, or worse, that something had happened to him. But no one dared ask directly. She was always so kind, yet somehow distant, as if she was keeping an enormous secret.

The other day, something strange happened. I found a letter in my mailbox that was clearly meant for her. I didn’t recognize the return address, but it looked urgent, so I thought I’d drop it off in person. Maybe it was a chance to finally see what was going on behind those closed doors.

I walked over to her house, and as usual, everything was quiet. The windows were drawn, but for the first time, the door was slightly ajar. I knocked, but no one answered. Feeling a bit awkward, I decided to just leave the letter on her doorstep. As I turned to leave, I felt an inexplicable urge to glance through the front window.

And there he was.

Her son. He was standing near the living room window, staring directly at me.

The second I saw him, my heart stopped, and everything went black. I fainted, collapsing right there on her porch.

When I came to, I was still on the ground, my head throbbing. But the image of her son—those eyes—was burned into my mind. His face had been pale, almost ghostly, with a haunting intensity that didn’t seem natural. His eyes… they were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Too big, too dark, as if they absorbed every bit of light in the room.

As I scrambled to my feet, my neighbor came rushing out. “Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned.

I was too shaken to say anything coherent. “I-I saw… your son,” I stammered.

She stiffened, her face going pale. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Without another word, she ushered me away from the house, practically pushing me off her porch.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The image of her son haunted me, his unnerving eyes flashing in my mind every time I closed mine. Something was very wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what.

The next day, I woke up determined to find out the truth. I asked around the neighborhood, but no one had seen the boy. One neighbor mentioned that the few times she had dropped off food or gifts, my neighbor refused to open the door fully, only reaching out to take the package.

I began piecing things together. Whatever was going on, her son wasn’t just a normal child. There was something deeply unsettling about him. My curiosity turned into fear. What had I seen in that house? And more importantly, why had she been hiding him from the world for three long years?

But I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

A few days later, a strange letter arrived at my house. It was handwritten, and the paper felt old, like it had been handled too many times. The letter contained only one line: “Leave it alone, or you’ll regret knowing the truth.”

That was when I knew this was much bigger than a strange neighbor with a hidden child. There was a darkness in that house, something that went beyond anything I could explain. I decided to stay away—to let the mystery of her son remain unsolved, no matter how much it haunted me.