The sign in the front yard of Number 5 had changed three times in the last month. First Foreclosure, then Under Contract, and finally, a bright red Sold rider that gleamed in the September sun.
Maya Lin-Baker stood on her front porch, leaning against the railing. The air had lost its oppressive humidity, replaced by the crisp, woodsmoke-scented promise of autumn. The wetlands behind the house—the Sinks—were turning gold and russet, no longer a dark, impenetrable wall of green, but just a marsh preparing for sleep.
A massive yellow moving truck groaned as it backed into the driveway next door. The air brakes hissed, a sound that used to make Maya jump, reminding her of the podcast’s sound effects. Today, it just sounded like a truck.
“New blood,” Chloe said, coming up the steps behind Maya. She wasn’t wearing her influencer beige. She was wearing paint-splattered overalls and her hair was in a messy, un-styled bun. Since deleting her Instagram and starting a legitimate staging business for ethical realtors, she looked tired, broke, and happier than Maya had ever seen her.
“Do we know who it is?” Maya asked.
“Single woman,” Chloe said. “Graphic designer from the city. Elena met her during the inspection. apparently, she loves the ‘character’ of the house.”
Maya laughed. “Character. That’s one word for a soundproof bunker in the basement and a history of voyeurism.”
“The bunker is a wine cellar now,” Chloe reminded her. “Elena helped her pick the racks. It’s beautiful, actually.”
Maya looked down at the plate in her hands. It was a ceramic platter from Target, not the imported Italian stoneware she used to display when she was trying to impress Sarah. On it sat a dozen chocolate chip cookies. They were lumpy. Two of them were visibly burnt on the edges.
“Are you sure about these?” Chloe asked, eyeing the charred bits. “They aren’t exactly Gables Gazette ready.”
“That’s the point,” Maya said. “I’m not selling her a lie, Chloe. I’m bringing her cookies. Real cookies made by a real person who sometimes gets distracted by her kids.”
“Fair enough,” Chloe grinned. “I’ll go tell Sarah to call off the welcome wagon committee. We don’t want to scare her off with the clipboard brigade.”
Maya stepped off the porch and walked down the driveway. The gravel crunched under her boots—a sound that was no longer a trigger, just texture.
She crossed the property line that Elias Thorne used to patrol with a ruler. The grass at Number 5 was a little long. Dandelions were poking through near the mailbox. Maya felt a surge of affection for the weeds. They were proof that life was messy, and that was okay.
A young woman came down the ramp of the moving truck, carrying a box labeled KITCHEN / FRAGILE. She looked to be in her late twenties, with short dark hair and glasses that kept slipping down her nose. She looked stressed. She looked like Maya had three years ago.
The woman set the box down on the asphalt and wiped her forehead. She looked up and saw Maya approaching. Immediately, her posture stiffened. She smoothed her shirt, checked her reflection in the truck’s side mirror. The instinct to perform.
Maya stopped a few feet away.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Maya. From next door.”
The woman forced a smile. It was tight, anxious. “Hi. I’m Ava. I… sorry about the truck blocking the sidewalk. The driver said he couldn’t make the turn otherwise.”
“It’s fine,” Maya said. “Block the sidewalk. Block the street. We don’t have rules about that anymore.”
Ava blinked. “You don’t? My realtor gave me a binder of HOA bylaws that was three inches thick.”
“We’re rewriting them,” Maya said. “The new board is a lot more relaxed. The president is a dog walker named Sarah who believes in letting the clover grow.”
She held out the plate. “These are for you. Chocolate chip. Warning: I burned the bottom of the ones on the left, but the chocolate hides the taste.”
Ava took the plate, looking at the imperfect cookies with genuine surprise. Her shoulders dropped an inch. “Thank you. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since I left the city.”
She picked up a burnt one and took a bite. She groaned. “Oh my god. Sugar.”
Maya smiled. “Welcome to Bittersweet Court.”
Ava chewed, looking up at the house—Number 5. The Cursed House. The sunlight hit the windows, and for the first time, they didn’t look like dead eyes. They just looked like glass.
“So,” Ava said, swallowing. She lowered her voice, glancing around the cul-de-sac. “I have to ask. The disclosure forms… they mentioned a ‘history’ of criminal activity on the property. And the podcast…”
She trailed off, looking at Maya with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
“You heard it?” Maya asked.
“Everyone heard it,” Ava said. “It was number one on Spotify for weeks. The Gables Ghost.” She gestured to the house. “This is the house where he… where he watched you. Isn’t it?”
Maya looked at the second-floor window where the birdhouse receiver had been aimed. She thought about the fear that had ruled her life for that month. The sleepless nights. The suspicion.
“Yes,” Maya said. “This is the house. A man named Elias lived here. He was a sad, angry man who thought he could control the world by watching it.”
“Does it bother you?” Ava asked. “Me living here? I mean, knowing what happened?”
Maya looked at Ava. She saw the hesitation. Ava was waiting for the rejection. She was waiting for Maya to tell her she was an intruder in their trauma.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Maya said truthfully. “Because Elias doesn’t live here anymore. You do.”
She pointed to the front door.
“Houses aren’t evil, Ava. People are. And sometimes, people are good. This house has been empty for a long time. It needs noise. It needs life. Do you have a dog?”
“A beagle,” Ava said, brightening. “Barnaby. Wait, no, Buster. Sorry, I’m tired.”
“We have a Barnaby on the street,” Maya laughed. “And a Buster. They’ll get along fine.”
Maya looked around the cul-de-sac. Sarah was walking her Barnaby near the gazebo, waving at Elena who was pulling out of her driveway in the Tesla. The Tuesday Toss bins were out, but they were haphazard, some lids open, some wheels crooked. It was gloriously imperfect.
“Listen,” Maya said. “There’s a group of us. We meet on Fridays. It used to be… complicated. But now it’s just wine and complaining about school boards. You should come.”
“Really?” Ava asked. “I thought… I mean, the podcast made it sound like a closed circle. The ‘Inner Circle.’”
“The circle is broken,” Maya said. “We smashed it. Now it’s just a line. And there’s plenty of room.”
She pointed to the side of Ava’s house, toward the path that led to the wetlands.
“Also, just so you know,” Maya said. “The trail back there leads to the Sinks. It’s beautiful at sunset. But bring bug spray. The mosquitoes don’t care about property values.”
Ava laughed. It was a real laugh, not the polite titter of a woman trying to fit in.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ava said. “Thanks for the cookies, Maya. Really.”
“Anytime,” Maya said. “And Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“If you ever feel like someone is watching you,” Maya said, her voice serious but kind. “Don’t hide. Come knock on my door. We look out for each other now.”
Ava smiled. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will,” Maya said.
She turned and walked back across the street. She didn’t look over her shoulder. She didn’t scan the tree line. She didn’t check her phone for notifications.
She walked up her driveway, past the spot where she had once found a listening device in her car. She walked into her house, the door unlocking with a solid, mechanical thunk.
Inside, the house smelled of cookies and coffee. Leo was in the living room, building a tower out of blocks. Dan was on the sofa, reading a book—not a screen, a paper book.
“New neighbor seem nice?” Dan asked, looking up.
“She seems normal,” Maya said, grabbing a cookie from the counter. “Which is exactly what we need.”
She walked to the sunroom. The glass walls were still there, floor to ceiling. But they weren’t a fishbowl anymore. They were just windows.
She looked out at the wetlands. The birdhouse was gone, taken into evidence by the FBI. The trees were just trees.
Maya took a bite of the burnt cookie. It tasted bitter and sweet, like ash and chocolate. It tasted like the truth.
She watched as Ava carried another box into Number 5. The cycle hadn’t just continued. It had evolved. The ghosts were gone. The neighbors were here.
And for the first time in thirty years, Bittersweet Court was just a street.