I met my new neighbor earlier today. When he left, I found a note on my doorstep with only "Welcome to the neighborhood. I don't hear anything."

I know my new neighbor watches me. He’s a really nice guy, but he’s always waiting in the hallways, because “he likes to have a nice little chat every once in a while.” He’s not a stranger to me, though; we’ve seen each other plenty of times, and I’ve long anticipated his introduction. <br><br>We first met one summer at my high school band camp nearly ten years ago. He was a ninth grader then, and I was a senior. He was the new kid in a group of fifty, so it was obvious he’d been recently uprooted. I couldn’t help but feel bad for the kid. Not only was he new, but he was also nearly mute to everyone else but me. <br><br>We were in band together, which is how we met, and our seats sat next to each other in rehearsal. No one else thought much of him, so I took it upon myself to befriend him. He was great at his instrument, far more talented then I ever was, and now I realize he was much more talented then I will ever be. <br><br>I digress, though. <br><br>We had a lot of the same interests. We were in the same grade level, and even sat next to each other on the bus ride to camp each morning. We had a blast, despite the sweltering heat and the ass-kicking band instructor. We even made plans to meet up one day, but on the last day of band camp, he was nowhere to be found. I waited for him, and even left a note, but I never heard back. <br><br>It wasn’t until years later that I saw him again. It was then that I realized he was the “Beautiful Boy” killer, convicted a year earlier for fourteen counts of kidnapping and first degree murder. <br><br>That’s when I knew I was next.<br><br>He was released just a few months ago, and he’s been living next door for a few weeks. We first spoke just the other day. <br><br>“Hello. My name is Owen, and I’m your new neighbor.” He had a slight smile on his face.<br><br>“Nice to meet you, Owen, but I already know your name.” I tried to sound nonchalant.<br><br>“Oh? Well, then, I guess I’m just your new neighbor.” There was no mistake in his pronunciation. He emphasized the word “new” in a way that made it sound like he’d whispered a secret in my ear. <br><br>I stammered a bit before I replied. “Yeah, well, I guess I don’t know you that well.” I was caught up in the moment; my head was a blank. I could only think about how much he’d grown, or how big his eyes had become. <br><br>“I know you do, though.” He leaned in close and whispered, “I hear you every night.” <br><br>I played it off well. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Owen. I know I’ve been a little louder than I’m supposed to be.” <br><br>“You don’t really hear me, though. Do you?” He said in a regular voice.<br><br>“No, of course not. I’m sorry again, Owen.” I was flustered.<br><br>“See you soon, Kellen,” he said, as he turned and walked away. <br><br>I was confused; my name isn’t Kellen. <br><br>He was gone before I could correct him. <br><br>I walked back into my apartment, trying to shake off the awkward feeling that settled inside me. As I began to close my door, I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. I picked it up, and read it. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I don’t hear anything.” I knew better than to doubt him. <br><br>That’s when I remembered the first night I met him, and how he seemed so...different. <br><br>It was our first night at camp, and a long day at that, so we were all a little tired. We were given some free time, though, so we decided to take a walk in the surrounding woods. Owen didn’t talk much, so I had to pry to get him to open up. That was when he told me about his family, or lack of one. <br><br>“I don’t have a family, Kellen. I live with my dad. My mom died when I was a baby.” He paused for a moment, long enough to look around to be sure no one else was listening. “My dad doesn’t like my name. He wishes I was named Kellen. I wish that too, sometimes.” <br><br>I was a little caught off guard. “Why Kellen?” I asked.<br><br>“Because, sometimes, I like to pretend I’m you. You know, just to see how it feels.” He looked up at me with big, round eyes and smiled. “It feels good, Kellen. It feels nice.” <br><br>I smiled back at him, and we shared a brief moment of silence. At that moment, I wished I could be him, just to see how it feels. <br><br>I really wish I could now. <br><br>I hear him every night. Walking. He’s always walking, and he always whistles with each step, so I can hear him coming. I can’t leave. I can’t move. I guess I’m just waiting for him to come through my door and take me away. <br><br>Last night was different, though. Last night, he didn’t whistle. <br><br>I heard his footsteps, quiet as they were, and I waited for his whistle. But it never came. I heard him stop and take a deep breath. It was the first time I’d ever heard him take a deep breath, and I didn’t know what to make of it. <br><br>I waited. He didn’t move. <br><br>I waited. He still didn’t move. <br><br>If I could just see him...just once. <br><br>I slowly cracked my door open, and heard him take another deep breath. His door was shut, but I could hear him shuffling around on the other side. It was then that I noticed the crack under his door. It was just enough for me to see the faint shadow of his feet. I watched the shadow as he shuffled around. <br><br>A few moments passed, and the shuffling stopped. The shadow of the feet stayed, though. <br><br>I hunched down closer to the ground, just enough to see that he was squatting down on the other side of the door. His face was buried in his hands; he was crying. <br><br>I stood up, and shut my door. I’m not going to make it. He’s going to come through my door one night, and take me away. He’ll kill me, just like he did the fifteen boys before me. <br><br>I’m not going to make it. <br><br>I hear him. I hear him walking to my door right now. My name is not Kellen, though. My name is Nathaniel.