The Evil My Neighbor Did With My Clothes Episode 2

The silence of the night was deafening as I stood there, staring at the empty clothesline. My heart raced, and my mind was clouded with confusion and fear. Where were my clothes? Who could have taken them? And what about the bloodstains I had seen?

I shined my flashlight across the yard again, hoping I had missed something, but the rope was bare. Reluctantly, I went back inside, locked all the doors, and returned to bed.

But sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned, my thoughts plagued by the bizarre events of the day. When I finally drifted off, the dream came again.

I was standing in a dimly lit room, surrounded by shadows. The air was heavy, suffocating. Suddenly, she appeared—the woman from across the street.

She was wearing my clothes.

"You!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty space. "What do you want from me?"

She didn’t answer. Instead, she smiled—a wide, unsettling grin that made my blood run cold.

"Stop this!" I yelled, trying to move closer, but my feet wouldn’t budge. It was as if I was rooted to the ground.

She began to laugh—a soft, eerie sound that grew louder and louder until it was deafening. I covered my ears, desperate to escape the sound.

I woke up gasping for air, my body drenched in sweat. The laughter still echoed in my ears as I sat up, trying to calm my racing heart.

It’s just a dream, I told myself. But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

I got out of bed and walked to the window, drawn by a strange compulsion. I pulled back the curtains, and there she was.

The woman stood in the dim light of the streetlamp, wearing my clothes. She was smiling again, that same unsettling smile from my dream.

"Enough is enough," I muttered, grabbing my jacket and heading for the door.

I stepped outside, the cold night air biting at my skin. "Hey!" I called out, my voice cutting through the silence.

She didn’t move.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I demanded as I approached her.

But before I could reach her, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

When I reached the spot where she had been standing, there was nothing but silence. No footprints, no trace of her presence. Frustrated, I turned back toward the house, and that’s when I saw it.

The clothesline.

My clothes were there, hanging neatly as if they had never been missing.

I hesitated, a cold dread settling over me. But exhaustion and frustration clouded my judgment. I walked over to the line, inspecting the clothes. They looked clean, untouched.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, pulling them down.

The next morning, I got dressed, trying to shake off the events of the night. I chose one of the shirts from the line—a simple white t-shirt—and put it on.

The moment the fabric touched my skin, I froze.

A sharp pain shot through my body, as if needles were piercing every inch of my skin. I gasped, clutching at the shirt, but it felt like it was glued to me.

"What’s happening?" I whispered, panic rising in my chest.

I ran to the mirror, and what I saw made my stomach drop. My skin was turning dark, like charred wood, and cracks were spreading across it like a spiderweb.

"No, no, no," I murmured, clawing at the shirt, desperate to remove it. But it wouldn’t budge.

The pain intensified, searing through my body as I fell to my knees. My vision blurred, and a cold sweat drenched my face.

I could hear laughter—soft at first, then growing louder. Her laughter.

I looked up at the mirror again, and for a moment, I thought I saw her reflection instead of mine.

---