I moved to a small town for a fresh start, but my new neighbors seemed unusually eager. First, Michael showed up with coffee, brimming with cheer and too much enthusiasm. Then Suzanne arrived with pies, gossip, and a not-so-subtle hint about Michael being single. More neighbors followed, bearing gifts and endless questions: “Where are you from?” “Are you here alone?” Their warmth felt invasive, leaving me uneasy.

As I finally settled into the house’s eerie emptiness, I found a note hidden in my bag. Its chilling message read: “I know who you are and what you’re running from. Be careful with new friends.” My past, which I had desperately tried to leave behind, suddenly loomed large, and the welcoming gestures of the town now felt like something far more sinister.