Michael stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. A sense of excitement mixed with uncertainty filled him as he surveyed his new home. The faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafting from the hallway. Just then, a gentle knock echoed from his open door. Eleanor, a kind-faced older woman with silver hair, stood at the threshold, a plate of warm cookies in her hands. "Welcome to the neighborhood, Michael," she said, her voice as warm as her smile.Eleanor was the first to welcome him. She was a kind older woman with a warm smile, offering cookies and advice about the quirky building. She seemed to know everything: the best grocery store, his odd work hours, even his fondness for jazz. "Thank you, Eleanor," he replied, accepting her offer with gratitude, unaware of the mysteries that lay ahead.

Grateful for her kindness, Michael decided to return the favor with dinner. Michael knocked gently on Eleanor's door, but there was no response. He waited, tapping his foot against the worn carpet. Just as he was about to leave, a maintenance worker approached, jangling a set of keys. "Excuse me, can you help me reach Eleanor?" Michael asked, his voice laced with concern. The worker looked puzzled. "Eleanor?" he repeated. "That apartment’s been locked up since a fire... thirty years ago." A chill ran down Michael's spine as the worker unlocked the door, revealing a room frozen in time.

Michael stepped back, his heart pounding as he took in the eerie sight. On the mantle, a black-and-white photo of Eleanor caught his eye—her familiar smile captured forever, a plate of cookies in hand. His phone buzzed suddenly, breaking the oppressive silence. A text from an unknown number flashed on the screen: "I thought we were friends, Michael. Why didn’t you come inside?"

Michael's eyes widened as he discovered newspaper clippings detailing the fire. Each article painted a vivid picture of the tragedy, the last one mentioning Eleanor’s mysterious disappearance. "Could she be..." Michael whispered, his voice trailing off. The line between reality and the supernatural blurred as understanding dawned upon him.

Michael felt a presence, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He turned slowly, and there she was—Eleanor, standing in the dim light, her figure ghostly yet familiar. "Why didn’t you come inside, Michael?" she asked, her voice echoing with a sadness that transcended time. "Eleanor, what do you want from me?" Michael asked, his voice trembling. "Companionship," she replied, her figure fading into the shadows. "Don’t leave me alone again."

Michael realized that Eleanor was more than a neighbor; she was a soul trapped between worlds, seeking solace. Though unnerved, he felt a strange sense of peace. He resolved to honor her memory, to be the friend she needed. The line between the living and the lost had blurred, but in that moment, Michael knew he was not alone.