The Invitation Next Door
I was just supposed to help Mrs. Carter move a box. Fourteen years old, lanky, nervous, and completely unprepared for what waited behind that door. She smiled like she knew something I didn’t—something about me, about her, about the way my hands trembled when she whispered, 'You’re in charge now.' I didn’t understand… until I did. And once I crossed that line, there was no going back.