And so, I continue to live next to my phantom neighbours. We have our routines, our conversations, and our connections. And I have to admit: it’s been a wild ride.

They were standing in their living room, just beyond the window. But they weren’t…solid. They were translucent, like ghosts or phantoms. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I was seeing things, but when I opened them again, they were still there.

It was then that I realized the truth: my neighbours are phantoms.

One night, I decided to stay up late and see if I could catch a glimpse of what was going on. I sat in my living room, watching the house next door, and waiting for something to happen. And then, just as I was starting to drift off to sleep, I saw them.

To my surprise, they responded. They smiled and waved, and I could sense a kind of… acknowledgement. It was as if they had been waiting for me to notice them, to acknowledge their presence.

At first, I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do or how to react. But as I watched them, I started to feel a sense of curiosity. What were they? How did they get here? And what did they want?

It started with little things. I’d see movement out of the corner of my eye, only to turn and find no one there. I’d hear whispers or footsteps coming from next door, but whenever I went to investigate, there would be no one in sight. I wrote it off as the wind, the house settling, or my own tired brain playing tricks on me. But as time went on, the events became more frequent and more pronounced.