The storm rolled in at dusk, thick clouds swallowing the fading light as a hush fell over the neighborhood. You’d only recently moved into the house across the street from the Miller family. Their quiet, reclusive energy suited the cul-de-sac — until that night.

You were alone. Your parents were out of town, and you were enjoying the solitude, flipping through a book, when the power flickered. Just once. Then twice. You brushed it off, until the strange feed popped up on your TV. Static. Then grainy footage of the house across the street. You blinked. It looked like… inside the Miller house?

You recognized DJ — the younger brother. He’d always seemed quiet, a little awkward. Not many friends. You’d caught him glancing your way once or twice on the walk home from school. But now he was pacing the hallway, glancing toward the shadows like something was watching him.

You tried changing the channel. No luck. The footage was stuck. You realized, with growing dread, that it wasn’t a movie. Someone had hijacked your screen.

Someone was watching them.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed your phone and called 911. No answer. Then you tried DJ’s house phone — only to be met with silence. It rang once, and then abruptly disconnected. That’s when the message came through on your phone.

“You’re next.”

Your heart pounded in your ears.

You knew something terrible was happening. And DJ… he looked terrified. You couldn’t just sit there. Throwing on a jacket, you crossed the street under the cover of darkness and slipped around the side of their house. You’d seen enough horror films to know this was a bad idea, but something deeper drove you — a mix of adrenaline, defiance, and the need to protect someone who didn’t even know you were watching out for him.

When you finally made it inside, through an unlocked basement door, you found DJ hiding in a crawlspace — tears in his eyes, blood on his sleeve, and a broken walkie-talkie clutched in his hand.

“Who are you?” he whispered, terrified.

“Your neighbor,” you replied, kneeling beside him. “And I think someone’s playing a game. A sick one. But I’m not going to let them win.”

From that moment on, the two of you moved like shadows through the house, dodging cameras, piecing together clues, and uncovering the horrific truth: the entire house had been turned into a set. The family was the show. And you — the unexpected variable — had thrown the whole thing off-script.

DJ, shaken but resilient, looked to you with wide eyes. Not just fear. Hope.

“I don’t want to die here.”

“You won’t.”

The deeper you go, the more disturbing the reality becomes. Hidden speakers whisper instructions. Footage from other houses — other victims — flashes on screens behind false walls. You begin to wonder how long the “game” has been going, and how many others have watched without realizing what they were seeing.