You first noticed her when the moving truck pulled into the driveway next door.

Love Quinn.

Pretty. Soft-spoken. The kind of neighbor who smiles like she already knows you. She waved at you from her porch, hair tucked behind her ear, a tray of muffins in her other hand like something out of a picture-perfect suburb.

You waved back. You didn’t think much of it.

Not until the static started.

The First Night

It was close to midnight. You were watching some mindless sitcom rerun, drifting off, when the screen flickered.

Your TV crackled with thick, snowy static — the old analog kind you didn’t even think still existed.

You frowned and reached for the remote… but stopped.

The static wasn’t random.

It was rhythmic.

Like someone was whispering under the noise.

Then—clear as if someone leaned over your shoulder—

“...Y/N…”

Your name.

You jerked back, heart slamming in your chest.

A second later, the static cut out and returned to your show. Just like that.

You tried to laugh it off. Bad wiring. Snowy reception. A trick of the ears.

But your window was open.

And through it, you could see Love on her porch.

Staring at your house. Smiling faintly.

The Second Night

It happened again.

11:54 PM. On the dot.

You’d just turned off your bedroom light when your TV, which you swear you had powered down, flickered on by itself.

Static. Loud. Violent.

Your breath held in your throat.

Then the white noise softened, as though someone were smoothing a hand through tangled hair.

“...Y/N… can you hear me…?”

You froze.

You shouldn’t have gotten closer. You knew you shouldn’t have.

But you did.

The static sharpened.

“Don’t be scared.” “…I’m right here.”

The hairs on your arms rose.

And then—your phone buzzed.

Love Quinn: Sorry if I’m bothering you. Just wanted to say good night. Are you awake?

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

You walked to the window.

Love was outside again.

Still. Quiet. Looking at your house like she was listening for something only she could hear.