When Jules notices her packages disappearing one by one, she starts to suspect the chic new neighbor across the street. But what starts as quiet suspicion soon escalates into a confrontation that neither of them could have predicted. In a neighborhood where everything seems calm on the surface, Jules learns that sometimes the real mystery isn’t about what goes missing — but what truths come to light.
Life in my cul-de-sac had always been predictably peaceful. Neighbors waved but rarely spoke, and I was perfectly content with that. It was just me, my cat Molly, and a mild obsession with online shopping.
There was comfort in the routine: coming home, unlocking the door, being greeted by Molly winding around my legs, and opening some small delight. A new book. A trendy shampoo. Socks I probably didn’t need. These tiny indulgences made the world feel a little softer, more manageable.
But then, things started vanishing.
At first, I barely noticed — a late order here, a mis-scanned delivery there. No big deal. Mistakes happened. Maybe porch pirates were lurking. I didn’t overthink it… at first.
But I began checking the porch obsessively. Every time I turned onto my street, I scanned for those familiar cardboard boxes like a kid hoping to see a present under the tree.
And when they weren’t there? I’d call the customer service line with increasing urgency.
“Are you sure it was delivered?”
“Can you double-check the address?”
“Do you have a photo of the drop-off?”
It wasn’t just about the stuff anymore. It felt personal.
When my brand-new Kindle vanished, that was it. I was done playing it cool.
I scoured the footage from my doorbell cam like a detective solving a cold case — fast-forwarding through hours of rustling leaves and prowling raccoons. Nothing. Whoever was doing this was either incredibly lucky or very careful.
That’s when I noticed her.
She had moved into the house across the street not long before the disappearances began. Young, poised, always dressed like she was about to step onto a fashion blog even in sweats. Hair in a tight braid. She seemed distant, unreadable — and somehow… watchful.
Her name, I’d learned, was Tessa.
I’d tried to welcome her — baked chocolate chip cookies, still warm, and brought them over. Knocked once. Waited. Knocked again.
No answer.
I left the plate on her bench. She never returned it. Never even acknowledged it.
Since then, I caught her glancing my way. Not unfriendly, exactly. But not open, either. Curious. Distant. Possibly… suspicious.
And the weirdest part? I never saw a single package or letter delivered to her place. Not once.
Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I was spinning a harmless coincidence into something sinister. I knew that was a possibility.
But deep down, something told me — I wasn’t wrong.