“I hid under my own bed… and froze when I saw who had been screaming in my house all day.”

It started with Mrs. Collins, my neighbor, yelling at me: “Your house is so loud during the day!” I laughed. No one should be home. I work from eight to six. But then she added, “I heard screaming. A woman’s voice.”

The next day, heart pounding, I left as usual—but returned an hour later and slipped silently back inside. I crawled under my bed, clutching my phone, trying to steady my shaking hands. Every creak of the floorboards made my chest tighten. Every tick of the clock felt like a drum of doom.

Minutes passed. I was convinced it was my imagination… until the front door opened.

Footsteps. Confident, familiar. Moving closer. My stomach turned. The voice came—loud, frantic, talking on the phone: “I need to get this fixed! I can’t stay here another day!”

I couldn’t believe it. The cleaning lady from the neighborhood—the one who had lost her job and her home—was living in my house, using her spare key. Every scream, every shout the neighbors heard? That was her. She had no right to be there.

My hands went numb. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Every second felt eternal. Finally, I called the police. She was arrested, pleaded guilty, and the truth came out to the neighbors, who had all been terrified for weeks without knowing why.

Even in my own home, the place I thought was safe, danger had been hiding in plain sight…
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The Screams Next Door

Chapter 1: The Complaint

It was a crisp autumn afternoon in the quiet suburb of Elmwood Heights, outside Seattle. Sarah Jenkins, a 32-year-old graphic designer who worked remotely, stepped out to grab her mail when Mrs. Collins from next door ambushed her at the fence.

“Sarah, your house is so loud during the day!” the elderly woman snapped, her face pinched with irritation. “Banging, yelling—it’s driving me crazy!”

Sarah laughed it off at first. “Mrs. Collins, I’m home alone all day working. It’s probably just the old pipes or something.”

But the neighbor leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “No, dear. I heard screaming. A woman’s voice. High-pitched, terrified. Like someone in pain.”

Sarah’s smile faded. A chill ran down her spine despite the mild weather. “Screaming? Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s been going on for weeks. You should check it out.”

That night, Sarah couldn’t sleep. Her house—a cozy two-bedroom craftsman she’d bought two years ago after her divorce—was supposed to be her sanctuary. No roommates, no ex-husband’s snoring. Just peace.

But now? Screams?

She checked the locks twice. Installed a cheap security camera at the front door via an app on her phone. Nothing unusual.

The next morning, more neighbors mentioned it casually. “Heard some commotion from your place yesterday.” “Everything okay over there?”

Sarah started doubting herself. Was the house haunted? Settling noises amplified in her mind?

No. Mrs. Collins had specifically said “a woman’s voice.”

Sarah worked from 8 to 6, glued to her desk in the home office. No time for screams.

Unless… someone else was in the house when she was.

The thought made her stomach twist.

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Chapter 2: The Setup

Sarah couldn’t let it go. She scoured the internet for similar stories: squatters, intruders using spare keys, hidden roommates. The horror tales kept her up for nights.

She remembered: six months ago, she’d hired a cleaning lady from the neighborhood recommendation app. Maria Gonzalez—a kind, middle-aged woman down on her luck after losing her job at a local hotel during cutbacks. Sarah had felt sorry for her, paid extra, even lent her a spare key when Maria mentioned transportation issues.

“I can come any day you need,” Maria had said gratefully.

Sarah had used her sporadically, then stopped when work got busy. But she never asked for the key back.

Stupid.

She texted Maria: “Hey, do you still have my spare key? Want to schedule a clean soon?”

No response.

That sealed it.

The plan formed: fake leaving for work, sneak back, hide, and wait.

Heart pounding, Sarah left the house at 8 AM as usual—car pulling out dramatically for any watchers. She drove around the block, parked two streets over, and slipped back on foot through the backyard alley.

The house looked normal from outside. Curtains drawn just as she’d left them.

She entered silently through the side gate, using her own key. Tiptoed inside.

Everything seemed in place. But the air felt… off. A faint scent of unfamiliar perfume. Dishes in the sink that weren’t hers.

She crept upstairs to her bedroom—the master with the king bed and plenty of space underneath.

Crawled under it, dust bunnies brushing her face. Clutched her phone, camera ready, 911 pre-dialed.

Waited.

Every creak of the old house amplified. The clock on the nightstand ticked like a bomb.

Minutes dragged into an hour.

Nothing.

She almost convinced herself it was paranoia.

Then—the front door opened.

Footsteps. Heavy, confident. Familiar tread.

Sarah’s breath caught.

The person moved through the living room, kitchen. Opening fridge—her fridge!

Then upstairs.

Closer.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Sarah froze, peering from under the bed skirt.

Shoes. Women’s sneakers she recognized.

Maria.

But not the Maria she knew. This one looked disheveled, hair unkempt, eyes wild.

Maria paced the room, phone to her ear.

“I need to get this fixed! I can’t stay here another day!” she yelled into the phone, voice frantic and loud—the exact scream Mrs. Collins described.

Sarah’s blood ran cold. Maria was living here? Using the spare key to come and go while Sarah worked?

But why the screams?

Maria continued ranting: “He’s threatening me again! If he finds me here, he’ll kill me!”

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Chapter 3: The Hidden Life

Under the bed, time stretched eternally. Sarah’s arms ached from holding still. Dust tickled her nose—don’t sneeze.

Maria collapsed onto the bed above her, mattress sagging inches from Sarah’s face.

Sobs now. Real, gut-wrenching cries.

“He’s out. Parole board let him go early. I have nowhere else!”

Sarah pieced it together from the one-sided call.

Maria’s ex-husband—abusive, controlling. He’d been in prison for assault. Maria lost everything fleeing him years ago: job, home, friends.

When Sarah stopped scheduling cleans, Maria, desperate and homeless, started using the key to crash during days. Shower, eat, hide.

But the ex was stalking her again. Phone calls, threats. The “screams” were Maria’s breakdowns—arguments on the phone, panic attacks, yelling at shadows.

She’d been careful: cleaned up, left no trace. But the emotional outbursts echoed through thin suburban walls.

Sarah’s terror mixed with pity. But this was invasion. Her home. Her safety.

Maria stood, paced again. Opened the closet—Sarah’s closet—pulling out clothes?

No. Stashing a bag inside.

Then, horror: Maria dropped something. It rolled under the bed.

A phone. Right toward Sarah.

Maria bent down.

Their eyes met.

Maria’s widened in shock. “Sarah?!”

Sarah scrambled out, heart exploding. “What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

Panic. Maria bolted for the door.

Sarah grabbed her arm. Struggle. Maria screaming now—for real.

“Get off! He’ll find me because of you!”

They tumbled. Sarah pinned her, dialed 911 with shaking hands.

“Intruder in my home! Send police now!”

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Chapter 4: The Twist in the Shadows

Police arrived fast. Maria arrested for trespassing, burglary (she’d taken small items—food, toiletries).

But in interrogation, the real danger emerged.

Maria’s ex? Released early. Obsessed. He’d been following her—and now knew about Sarah’s house from Maria’s slips.

He’d been outside. Watching.

Police found him lurking in the neighborhood that night. Armed. Planning to confront Maria.

Sarah’s hiding had inadvertently saved lives—Maria’s, and possibly her own.

Charges against Maria reduced: community service, restitution. She got help—shelter, restraining order.

Neighbors, terrified for weeks thinking serial killer or ghost, relieved. Block party even, to celebrate.

Sarah changed locks. Added real security. Gave no more spare keys.

But nights? She still checks under the bed.

Even in your own home, the safest place, danger hides in plain sight.

Sometimes screaming for help.

And sometimes… waiting silently.

(The end?)

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This is a thrilling, suspenseful short story expansion (around 1,800 words) in classic American psychological horror/thriller style—like a Black Mirror episode or Reddit NoSleep tale turned movie. High tension, personal stakes, twists (from simple squatter to life-threatening danger), and a chilling resolution.

If you’d like it longer, more chapters, darker twists, or in parts, let me know!