“Lucy, I’m heading out now. I have a business trip to attend. I’ll be gone for three days,” said Mr. Allen.
“Don’t forget to lock the doors at night. Don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know.”
“Yes, Dad,” Lucy replied.
“Turn on the lights at night—especially the one by the stairs. And don’t forget the fridge.”

Lucy nodded.

The quiet 11-year-old girl didn’t look up even once as Mr. Allen kissed her on the forehead before walking out.
As soon as the door shut, Lucy went straight to the drawer, took out a padlock, and headed to the kitchen.
“Just three days,” she whispered to herself.
She locked the refrigerator with the padlock, then carefully checked each door and window.

The living room light stayed on.
Even though it flickered from time to time, she didn’t bother to turn it off.

Next door, Mrs. Lisa was busy washing the dishes, but her eyes never left Lucy’s shadow moving quietly behind the curtain.
“There she goes again,” she muttered.
Every time her father leaves, the child turns into some kind of security guard.

Her husband, Mr. Rick, was just sitting in his armchair sipping coffee.
“You’re being paranoid again,” he said.

“Can’t you see? Ever since they moved into this neighborhood, her dad—Mr. Allen—always comes home at midnight, and he’s always going out of town. The girl locks all the doors every night. She leaves all the lights on like she’s afraid of ghosts. And have you ever seen anyone padlock a refrigerator? Isn’t that weird?”

“Maybe the girl had some past trauma,” Rick said.

“Exactly my point. Whatever happened to her—it’s so bad, she checks the fridge every night. She locks it, and an hour later, she checks it again.”

Rick shook his head.
“You’re overthinking things.”

But Mrs. Lisa couldn’t let go of the feeling.

The next day, while watering her flowers, she saw Lucy walking outside carrying two large plastic bags filled with canned goods and bottled water.
She moved quickly, head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

That afternoon, Mrs. Lisa finally managed to stop her at the gate.

“Did you just come from the market, Lucy?”

“Umm… not really. I just bought a few things outside,” Lucy answered softly.

“Your dad’s on another business trip, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But it’s only for a few days.”
“You’re all alone in that house?”

Lucy looked down. Her voice barely audible.
“I’m used to it.”

“Poor thing…” Mrs. Lisa sighed.
Lucy quickly walked back into the house.

That night, the lower floor of Lucy’s house lit up brightly.
Mrs. Lisa sat in her living room, watching.

Then, faint noises came from the house next door—soft footsteps—followed by complete silence.
Moments later, a strange sound echoed—like a heavy metal door opening.

Startled, Mrs. Lisa tried to wake her husband.
“Rick, wake up.”

“What now? Another problem?” Rick groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

Mrs. Lisa pulled the curtain aside, her suspicion growing stronger.

The next morning, while talking about trash outside, she secretly saw Lucy stuffing something into the garbage bin at the end of the alley.
Mrs. Lisa slowly walked closer—and spotted a white men’s shirt, stained and marked with what looked like dried blood on the sleeves.

When Lucy saw her, her face turned pale.
Startled, she almost ran back into the house.

“Lucy, wait! That shirt—”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just in a hurry.”

Mrs. Lisa stood frozen.
Her eyes fixed on the trash bin.

She quietly took the shirt out of the bin and placed it in a plastic bag to bring home.

Mr. Rick recoiled in shock when she placed it on the kitchen table.

“Are you out of your mind, Lisa? That has blood stains!”

“So now what? Do you believe me now? Do you still think I’m just imagining things?”

“Maybe someone just had an accident.”
“That’s a man’s shirt. And Alan isn’t even around, right? He’s been on a trip for days, so who wore that?”

Mr. Rick fell silent.
“I’m serious, Rick. There’s something wrong with that house. With Lucy. I can’t understand why she’s acting that way. It’s like she’s afraid of something—or like someone’s always watching or following her.”

“So what are you planning to do? Are you going to call the police?”
“Not yet. I’m going to wait and keep watch.”

At the same time, in a house across the street…

Lucy sat on her bed. The dim yellow light from the ceiling lamp cast a pale glow over her face.
The bags under her eyes were prominent—it was clear she hadn’t slept in nights.
She stared at the basement door, then glanced toward her locked refrigerator.

“I can’t let him out,” she whispered to herself.
“If he gets out, I’m dead.”

A sound echoed from the lower part of the house, and Lucy nearly stopped breathing.
She slowly walked toward the door and pressed her ear firmly against it.
A noise—then dead silence.

“Not yet,” she whispered.
“I have to wait until morning.”

She walked downstairs, checking every bolt and lock before heading to her room. But before reaching it, she stopped in the kitchen to inspect the refrigerator. When she saw it was still securely locked, she let out a deep breath of relief.

Across the street, Mrs. Lisa was still awake.

The glow of the television cast reflections across her confused face.
“There’s something in that house I need to find out, Rick,” she muttered.
“Don’t you see? Every time her dad’s away, the kid is forced to live like a prisoner. And that shirt? Don’t you find it suspicious? What if someone else is living in that house?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Rick replied.
“I’m sure she’s just buying canned goods.”

“Another big bottled water and tuna pasta. Nothing new. I’ve never seen her cook real food. Maybe she just likes simple meals.”
“No,” Lisa said. “I’ve been watching her. She barely eats. And she goes down to the basement all the time.”

“How do you know all that?”
“I hear things every night when Alan’s not around. Sounds like something—or someone—is being dragged down the stairs. Sometimes I hear metal doors being opened and closed. Clanking sounds, like a spoon hitting steel. And animal howls—not loud, but just enough for me to hear, Rick.”

That girl was all alone. That night, Lucy was struggling to carry bottles of water and canned food down to the basement. The staircase was still dark even though the light was on. She stopped in front of a metal door and knocked three times.

“Don’t make any noise. It’s me.”

There was no response. Lucy inserted the key and slowly opened the door, pushing the bag inside.

“This is all I have. Dad’s coming home soon.”

A rough voice emerged from the darkness.

“How is that enough? I don’t have any more money, and you better stop making noise at night. The neighbors are starting to get suspicious.”

A coarse laugh sent chills down her spine.

“We both know I’m not someone you can just lock up this easily.”

Lucy didn’t respond. She quickly shut the door and locked it tightly before hurrying up the stairs, feeling as if someone were chasing her.

The next day, Mrs. Lisa decided to take action. She rang Lucy’s doorbell. After a while, Lucy finally answered, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Sorry… I was sleeping.”

“Sleeping? It’s already 7:00 in the morning.”

Lucy nodded quietly.

“Are you okay? Your eyes are sunken, and you’re so pale. It also seems like you haven’t been eating much. Am I right?”

“No… I’ve been eating properly.”

“Is your dad coming home soon?”

Lucy hesitated, then answered, “Tomorrow.”

“Is anyone staying with you right now?”

Lucy quickly shook her head.

“No one. I’m alone.”

“Then where are those noises coming from every night? From your basement? What is that?”

Lucy looked straight at her, her expression unreadable.

“Our basement is just for old stuff. That sound you hear is just the wind opening the door down there.”

Mrs. Lisa couldn’t believe Lucy’s explanation, but she said nothing more. As she turned to leave, Lucy quietly spoke:

“Please… stop suspecting us. I’m begging you.”

By noon, it suddenly rained. Mrs. Lisa was sitting by the window, sipping tea, when she suddenly heard a loud noise coming from the house next door. She stood up in shock. A scream pierced through the sound of heavy rain, followed by a thudding noise, as if someone were being slammed against the wall.

“Rick, stand up for a moment.”

“What is it again, Lisa?”

“I heard something—a scream. I’m sure it came from Lucy’s house.”

The two of them hurried to the veranda together, but all they saw was the ongoing rain and the faint light coming from their neighbor’s living room.

The next morning, Mrs. Lisa went out early to take out the trash. As she opened one of the public garbage bins, she noticed a piece of paper soaked by the rain and seemingly hidden. Curious, she unfolded it—and saw a messy but clearly legible handwritten message. Her throat instantly felt dry:

“Help me. Don’t let him out. He’s going to kill me.”

Mrs. Lisa stepped back in shock. Her heart started pounding faster. She quickly looked around, but there was no one else on the street. Quietly, she folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket, shivering.

“This is too much,” she whispered to herself.

At that very moment, inside the house, Lucy was patiently wiping dried blood off the stairs leading to the basement. That night, a creature from the darkness suddenly slammed against the basement door. The loud banging echoed like a wild animal’s rage.

Lucy managed to block the door using a bookshelf, summoning all the strength from her small frame. She already knew how to remove the lock. If the day came when it managed to break free, she had duct tape and made sure the refrigerator door was sealed shut. She placed the basement key inside a plastic container and hid it deep in the freezer. No one would ever find it. No one.

That night, while everything was quiet, there was a sudden knock at their door. Lucy peeked through the curtain. A young man, about her age, was standing at the gate, holding a carton of milk.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m Matt. My family just moved in—down the alley. My mom asked me to return this milk. Mrs. Lisa accidentally delivered it to us.”

Lucy opened the door hesitantly.

“Who’s your mom?”

“Mrs. Lauren. Mrs. Lisa asked her to bake a cake, but instead she sent the milk. That’s why she asked me to return it.”

Lucy hesitated again, but eventually opened the gate. Matt looked around and furrowed his brow slightly.

“Your house is kind of… different. The lights are always on—day or night.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, not really. I was just curious. Thanks for the milk.”

Lucy turned to go back inside. But Matt remained standing at the gate, looking uneasy.

“I saw something… at your basement door. Do you have a sibling?”

Lucy froze.

“No.”

“If you don’t, then who did I see?”

Lucy immediately slammed the door shut and locked it tightly.

The next day, before classes began, someone suddenly approached her from behind.

“What’s going on with you, Lucy?”

When she turned around, she was met with the serious face of her friend.

“Ah, nothing. There’s no problem.”

“But your body… it’s covered in bruises.”

Your eyes… they have bruises too. Did you get into a fight?”

Lucy shook her head.
“I just slipped on the stairs.”

Emily wanted to say more, but the bell suddenly rang. Lucy headed to her seat at the back of the room, doing her best to avoid eye contact with her classmates. While the teacher was lecturing, Emily didn’t speak or write anything. Instead, she quietly drew—and what she sketched was a door with a shadow peeking from behind it.

“Lucy!”

Miss Taylor approached and gently placed a hand on Lucy’s arm.

“Are you okay?”

Lucy was startled.
“Sorry if I scared you, Lucy. But you came to class today covered in bruises. Is there something you want to talk about? I’m here to listen.”

Lucy just shook her head. She didn’t even look at Miss Taylor. Her eyes remained fixed on her desk. The white paper in front of her was filled with thick, chaotic scribbles—lines without direction.

“I just fell down the stairs, ma’am.”

“But you don’t seem okay. Would you like to stay after class for a bit? We can call your guardian.”

“My dad’s on a business trip. There’s no one at home.”

Miss Taylor paused, as if hesitant, before speaking again.

“You can talk to me if you want. Is there something—or someone—you’re afraid of?”

Lucy shook her head and stayed silent.

After class, Lucy walked home alone. No one walked with her. She was often the target of ridicule from her classmates. They called her “weirdo.” She didn’t socialize, didn’t eat in the cafeteria, and always buried herself in drawing and writing in her small notebook.

That day, Matt was waiting at the school gate. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

“Lucy.”

“How did you know where I go to school?”

“I asked Mrs. Lisa.”

“Is that so? Or maybe… you’re just following me.”

“Is something going on at your house?”

Lucy remained silent.

“Mrs. Linda told me she hears loud screams from your house every night. Is someone else staying with you?”

“I told you—there’s no one.”

“Then who’s hurting you?”

“You don’t understand anything.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She turned and quickly walked away.

When she got home, she went straight to her room and opened a drawer. From inside, she slowly pulled out a black notebook. On the first page, there was immediately a messy scrawl of handwriting.

Do not open the door.
Do not speak.
Do not trust anyone.

She flipped to the next page. Every page was filled with records of fear—pieces of truth she didn’t dare speak.

One night, it called me by my name—using a voice that sounded like a child’s lullaby. I don’t know anymore who the real monster is.

If I fall asleep, he might escape.
And if he escapes… I’ll lose everything.

Lucy sat by the window.
It was already dark outside.
The house was quiet.
The refrigerator was still locked, and the basement seemed to be sleeping.
But silence—that was what she feared the most.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

She screamed in shock and immediately peeked through the peephole.

“Please, Lucy. Open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“What’s in your basement?”

“Just leave.”

“I brought something. I want to give it to you.”

Lucy hesitated.
Finally, she opened the door.

“Just give it to me here, then leave.”

Matt handed her the box—but didn’t leave right away.

“I saw a light near your basement. Who’s down there? Is someone hurting you?”

“No.”

Matt suddenly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.

“This is your handwriting, isn’t it?”

Lucy froze.
It was the note she had managed to toss in the trash bin—the one that said, Help me. Don’t let him out.

“Mrs. Lisa gave it to me. She told me to find a way to help you. But you keep pushing me away.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You do. You shouldn’t have written a letter asking for help if you didn’t want any.”

Lucy let out a deep sigh, her hands trembling.

“Just go—before he finds out you’re here.”

“Who is he?”

She slammed the door shut with force.

That night, the strange noise from the basement grew even louder.
Lucy lay in bed in silence, squeezing her eyes shut in fear—until a cold, haunting voice called to her from the darkness.

“Lucy… are you there?”

She clutched her thick pillow tightly to her chest.
Matt felt like the only comfort she had amid all this fear.

She got up and ran down the stairs.

The metal door below was slightly trembling.
From behind it, the voice came again—sharper now, more full of rage:

“You can’t keep me locked up forever.”

Lucy stepped back, tears silently running down her cheeks.
She turned and ran back to her room.
She locked the door and leaned her chair against it, then opened her journal once more.

I saw him smile in the dark.
He knows I’m getting weaker.

I’m afraid to admit that I’ve become far too accustomed to that shadow.
As time passed, Lucy continued living a life filled with fear and dread.

“Lucy, don’t go down to the basement.”
“But I left my coloring supplies down there…”
“I need them for my homework.”
“You said the paint set is down there.”
“Go back to your room. I know where Dad is. I just need to turn on the light.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to go down there? No one is allowed, except me.”
“Is that clear?”

Lucy nodded, but her gaze drifted toward the metal door at the end of the hallway. Her father had never forbidden the basement so strictly before—and tonight, he bolted it with two padlocks for the first time.

The next morning, Lucy looked at her father differently.
“Dad, who’s in the basement?”

“The basement is just for old things.”

“But I heard someone talking.”

Mr. Allen paused, but sat calmly at the table, sipping his hot coffee.

“Lucy, someone is living down there. He’s my youngest child.”
“I didn’t know I had another sibling.”
“His name is Carl, and he’s not like others. He suffered severe psychological trauma after an accident. I’m caring for him—but promise you won’t tell anyone.”
“Why not take him to the hospital?”
“Carl hates hospitals. He once tried to end his life there. That’s why I’ve hidden him here to care for him… even if only for a few months. Once he’s better, you won’t have to worry.”

“But why keep this secret from me?”

“Carl has uncontrollable behavior. He doesn’t want to see anyone… but sometimes he loses control. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

Lucy was silent for a moment.
“I’m scared, Dad.”

One night when Mr. Allen was away, a thunderstorm raged. Lucy was reading when she suddenly heard a knock at her bedroom door—not the front door. She walked toward it, trembling, and opened it… Only to find a folded piece of paper on the floor. It read:

“Thank you for listening to me.”

Startled, Lucy ran—the sound of her pulse pounding like a drum filled her ears. The next day, she told her father what had happened.

“But how? I locked the basement!” he said, his eyes bloodshot from sleep deprivation.

“The solution is simple—I’ll add another lock, as long as you stay away from him, Lucy.”

As months passed, Carl’s behavior worsened.
“Maybe we shouldn’t stay here.”
“You don’t understand—Carl’s family. If I abandon him, who will care for him?”

Lucy bit her lip.
“But what about me? What about me in this house?”

Mr. Allen said nothing.

One afternoon, when Lucy returned from school, she found the basement door slightly ajar. The padlock was broken. She gasped for air—then saw chaos in the kitchen: utensils scattered, chairs misplaced. She grabbed scissors and stepped carefully. In the living room, she heard a faint chuckle. A man with wild hair sat there, thick beard, deep-set eyes, wearing her father’s oversized sweater.

“You… you’re Carl, right?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You grew up so fast… Two years ago, you were just a little boy peeking into the basement.”

Lucy stumbled back.
“I’m not trying to scare you—I just want to breathe. Do you know how long I’ve lived in darkness? I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

Carl smiled.
“So what will you do? Tell the police? Call the neighbors? Who will believe you?”

Lucy’s hands trembled around her pencil.
“You need to go back to the basement.”
“Fine. I’ll scream.”
“Don’t challenge me.”
Carl approached:
“They’ll come—not for me locked in the basement, but for you and your father. Who will be declared insane?”

Lucy drew a shaky breath, trying to calm herself.
“I’m not afraid of you—but you’re the one who’s shaking.”

Suddenly Carl lunged, grabbing her arm. Lucy used the scissors to stab him in the back. She screamed and fought, until she collapsed—her head hitting a corner of the table. Blood dripped from her forehead and her vision blurred.

“You’ll regret this.”

Lucy staggered toward the front door. Carl tried to follow, but she ran too fast. Defeated, he retreated to the basement—allowing Lucy to slam it shut behind him. She wept harder than ever. From that day on, she never turned off the lights again, not even at dawn.

Three days later, Allen returned home—and was horrified at what he saw. Furious, he saw the bruises and cuts covering his daughter. No matter how careful he had been, Carl had escaped and hurt Lucy.

With so much damage to his child, Mr. Allen realized Carl’s condition had worsened far beyond simple illness. Reluctantly, he took action. As the eldest son, he had hoped they’d stick together for the sake of their late parents’ memory—but he couldn’t risk his daughter’s safety any longer. He couldn’t harm his own child, but he needed to do what was right.

One day later, the police arrived.
They entered the house and found the locked refrigerator that caught their attention. Mr. Allen invited them to open it. Inside: nothing but loaves of bread and bottled water clearly intended for Carl.

He explained that the blood-stained clothes in the basement came from Carl’s attempt on his own life—and that was why he had locked him away, to protect Lucy.

Medical personnel escorted Carl away with the police to be treated and referred to a proper mental health hospital.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you were nearly harmed because of your uncle,” Mr. Allen said, hugging Lucy tight.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

Lucy threw her arms around her mother.

“Thank you so much for coming home. I was so afraid of Uncle.”

The whole neighborhood—Matt, Mrs. Lisa, and Mr. Ricky—witnessed the truth of what had happened. In the mental hospital, Carl gradually improved while Lucy thrived at school. Her teachers, especially Miss Taylor, were delighted to see her blossom.

Once a child shrouded in fear, she began to fill with energy and hope. Everything Lucy had written in her journal were the things she had once wanted to shout to the world—but never dared to say.

She trusted her father’s decision, so she stayed silent. Often she created secret messages, begging for help in hidden form—yet she couldn’t speak them aloud, out of fear and because of her father’s orders. This story serves as a powerful reminder: silence is not protection—it’s a wound that never heals.

No one—even family—has the right to gamble with a child’s safety. Speaking out with courage is the first step in breaking through the darkness. When someone listens with a full heart, healing begins. True freedom doesn’t come from running or hiding from the past—but from facing it.