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

No explanation. No anger. Just that number.

I believed her.

“You’re number 202,” she said calmly.

My second was turning my back to make tea. -JBD-202- I Was Tied Up By My My Neighbor Hana

If you live next to a quiet woman named Hana, and she smiles a little too long when she sees you…

I was wrong.

Don’t answer the knock. End of entry.

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

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.

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. No explanation

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.

Hana lived two doors down. Quiet. Kept her lawn neat. Waved sometimes when I took out the trash. We exchanged polite nods at the mailbox. I thought I knew her — the way you think you know a neighbor. Harmless. Maybe a little lonely.

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

It started with a knock. Tuesday evening, just after 8 p.m. Rain was coming down hard. Hana stood at my door, soaked through, asking to borrow a phone charger. Her voice shook — said her power had gone out, and she needed to call her mom. I didn’t think twice. I let her in.