-jbd-202- I Was Tied Up By My My Neighbor Hana Link

She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t hit. She just asks questions. Endless questions. What keeps you up at night? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Who would miss you if you disappeared?

That was my first mistake.

“You’ll leave when I’m done,” she said. “But you won’t tell anyone. Because I’ll know if you do.”

So here it is.

My name doesn’t matter. My address doesn’t matter. What matters is this: Hana is not your friendly neighbor. She’s not the girl who borrows phone chargers. She’s a curator of fear, and I am JBD-202 — just another entry in a book no one will ever believe exists.

I was wrong.

Yesterday, she brought me a sandwich and a glass of water. She untied one of my hands to let me eat. I thought about grabbing her, but her eyes — flat, calm, patient — told me she’d already planned for that. There was a knife in her lap. Not a threat. A fact. -JBD-202- I Was Tied Up By My My Neighbor Hana

I remember the sting in my neck. A needle. Then the floor rushing up to meet me.

Hana sat across from me on a plastic stool, legs crossed, holding a spiral notebook.

I believed her.

Don’t answer the knock. End of entry.

Over the past two days, I’ve learned a few things. She’s done this before. The notebook is filled with names, dates, and entries labeled “JBD” — her personal case files. She calls herself a “collector.” Not of things. Of people. Of their fears.