ghost story · short stories · story · thriller

Hope is Always Next Door

A new life is what I need. Being alone in every moment is more than awful. 

Can't anybody hear me? 

But there is Hope next door.

The guy who lives next door, Hope, he is so close but he 
won't listen, it's as if he doesn't notice me here. 
Everyday, I look inside his room by a crack on the wall 
separating our rooms, just to see if he comes to my aid, 
like a knight in shining armor for a damsel in distress. 

Distress it is.

I am always screaming, you see. Always screaming for help. For someone to take me away from this oppressing darkness. 

But I think Hope, the guy next door, doesn't even know my name.

I spy at him every night through the crack on the wall. 
Always, he brings different sorts of girls with him. 
Whores bitches, fucking sluts.

I pity them. But still, I watch. Watch through the crack on the wall.

My wails match every kiss they share, every move they make in that too-small bed of his. It makes me want to puke.

I scream and wail, scream and wail.

Cry myself to sleep.

Disgusting people, disgusting, icky, awful yuckiness.

Cry to sleep.

Scream and wail, scream and wail.

Till that one night.

I hear him, hear him crying in his room through the crack on the wall.

"Alyssa... Alyssa... No..."

Why? Why is he crying?

I watched him, still crying and sobbing, as he took the 
knife from under his bed and slashed his wrists while still screaming that name.

That name.

I watched him until he lost consciousness.

I watched him until he was lying in a pool of blood. 
Blood, so much blood. His own blood.

That name.

So he still knows that name.

He hasn't forgotten.

Neither have I.

"Alyssa! Buy me some cigarettes outside! Hope cigarettes, not Marlboros."

"Yes Kuya." I go and buy his cigarettes.

When I come back, "Alyssa!" 

He is drunk. Not again.

"Yes kuya?"

"Come here, sit beside me."

"Why Kuya?"

"Nothing, just a little fun."

He starts to kiss me on my neck.

"K-Kuya?? What are you doing?? D-don't, P-plea-" Slap!

My Kuya slapped me. He starts to look shocked and worried.

"I-Im sorry, Alyssa."

He went outside and I cried.

I slept in my room.

"Alyssa..." He came back. He smells of liquor.

"K-Kuya?? Why? You're drunk."

"Buy me some Hope again."

"But its late, it's so dark outside.."


I flinched and ran outside to the store not far from our house. 

I wish Mom and Pop were still here. I wish...

"Here's your cigarettes, Kuya." I was standing in front of him.


He took it and I was about to go but he took hold of my wrists.

"Wait, Alyssa. Don't go."

"Why Kuya?"

"I need you.."


"Take off your clothes."

"W-what? W-wait, K-Kuya.."


I start to cry, and he slapped me again.

"DO IT!!!!"

I do it, my hands trembling like a 90 year old's. 
He starts to kiss me again, all over my body, all over, all over. 

"Hold me." He says. I cry and do it.

He takes off his clothes and I feel so dirty. So dirty.

"Don't cry, Alyssa. We need each other... You need this too.." 

He went on top of me, and moved, kept on moving, using my body for his devilry.

"Stop crying Alyssa." He said after. I bundled my naked body with my blanket. He went out at last.

I just lay there, salty tides leaking out of my eyes until I remembered something. 

I reached under my bed and took the knife I'd hidden there. I'd always kept it safe. Too bad I wasn't able to do that for myself. I slashed my wrists.

I cried until I was lying in a pool of my own blood.

Until I saw the blackness, that unfathomable blackness,
and felt my life slowly drain out of me. 


That name.


So he still knows my name.

I haven't forgotten.

Neither has he.

The reason why I always scream and wail, scream and wail, here in my room, where I still reside.

At least he can't use my body anymore.

I haven't forgotten, but now I can sleep without crying.

He hasn't forgotten as well. 

And he never will. 

I made sure of that. With my screams and wails that only
he could hear.

Now he's the one in the oppressing darkness

I no longer scream nor wail.

I smile.

Oh, I smile.

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