My Neighbor Doesn't Age

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When I moved into the neighborhood, I noticed Mr. Grayson. He lived next door. He was a man in his mid-40s, or so I thought. He tended to his garden, sat on his porch, and waved at me when I passed by. He was quiet, but friendly.

Years passed. Mr. Grayson didn’t change. I noticed it more each year. He looked the same. Same face, same hair. He didn’t age.

At first, I thought it was coincidence. Maybe I was imagining things. But as time passed, I couldn’t ignore it. He didn’t age. No wrinkles. No graying hair. He looked the same as when I first moved in.

I became obsessed. I started taking pictures of him, one each year. Same porch. Same smile. No change.

Friends didn’t believe me. “He just has good genes,” they’d say. “Lucky guy.”

But I knew something was wrong.

I watched him every day. He was always there. Always in the same routine. He never seemed to leave the house for more than a few hours. He never looked tired. I noticed every detail. His clothes didn’t change. His movements were always the same.

One day, something strange happened. Mr. Grayson wasn’t outside. I thought he might be sick. Or on vacation. I checked his mailbox, just out of curiosity. I found an envelope, addressed to me. It was from him.

I went inside and opened it. The handwriting was neat. On the paper, there was a message:

"You’ve noticed, haven’t you? Time doesn’t work for me like it does for you. I haven’t aged in over a century. I can’t leave. I don’t know why. All I know is that I’m stuck here, watching as time moves forward for everyone else, but never for me. And now, it’s happening to you too."

My hands shook as I read the letter. I didn’t want to believe it. But the words were there, plain and clear.

I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I had to know more.

I went to his house. Knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing. I turned the doorknob. It opened.

Inside, the house was dark. The air felt heavy, thick. The furniture was the same, but there was something wrong. It felt abandoned.

Then I saw it. A portrait on the wall. It showed Mr. Grayson. But something was off. He looked exactly the same. But in the background, the world was changing. The house was older. People were wearing clothes from a different time. I looked closer. I realized he had been living here, in the same place, for decades. Centuries, maybe.

I turned to leave. My heart raced. I wanted to get out.

Then I heard his voice.

“You understand now, don’t you?” he said.

I froze. He was standing at the top of the stairs. His face was calm. His eyes gleamed.

“I knew you would notice. Time doesn’t work the same for you now. You’ll stay like me. Watching. Waiting.”

I backed away. “No! This can’t be real!”

But as I turned to run, I felt it. The pull. The shift. Something changed. The room felt wrong. I couldn’t breathe.

I ran to the door. But the world around me twisted. It was like time had stopped. Everything was frozen. The house. The air. The calendar outside.

I looked at the date. It was the same date as last year. The same year.

I hadn’t aged. Neither had Mr. Grayson.

I haven’t seen him since that day. But I know he’s still there. Watching. Waiting.

And now, I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that I’m still the same person. Time doesn’t work the same for me anymore.

I think I’m stuck. Like him.

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