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718words2026-01-26 09:08

Do you have secrets in your life that are too painful to speak about?
This girl does.She was raped while sleeping in her own room — and even worse, the perpetrator was her upstairs neighbor.

Speaking of this rape case, I had just become a police officer at that timeandhad almost no experience handling such situations.
When the girl came, her hair was a mess, and her clothes were clearly disheveled. She rushed into the police station, sat on the chair, and cried, stubbornly refusing to look up.
It was early in the morning, and a girl came in alone, crying while trying to report something. Even without asking, it was easy to guess what had probably happened.
She told me that she had been raped, — and that the person who did it was her upstairs neighbor.
I was stunned. In all my years growing up, I had never encountered such a beast in the guise of a neighbor.
Later, after some careful questioning, the girl finally revealed her family background.

Her father had died of illness when she was young , and her mother had brought her here to start over.
It wasn’t easy for a woman to a daughter all on her own. .
During this period, their upstairs neighbor would often lend a hand whenever they encountered difficulties.
After several interactions, they grew familiar with him. He appeared to be an honest and simple-minded uncle.

However, after the girl’s mother changed jobs and began traveling frequently for business,
the uncle upstairs seemed to change.
The girl noticed that whenever her mother was away and she was home alone , the uncle would always find an excuse to knock on her door.
She asked him about it once, but he would always brush it off with a vague laugh.
Then one day, the girl got up to use the bathroom and heard rustling sounds outside the security door.
She thought it might be a thief and was terrified. Peeking through the peephole quietly, she saw a disgusting scene.
The corridor light was on, and the uncle from upstairs was sitting in front of her door. In one hand, he held a photo of her—where he got it, she had no idea. In the other, unbelievably, was a pair of underwear she had left out on the balcony to dry.
The girl stood frozen, helpless, as the uncle from upstairs inhaled the scent of her underwear with sick delight, panting heavily. His eyes were locked on her photo while his hand moved somewhere between his legs.
Terrified, the girl didn’t dare tell her mother what had happened.
After that night, she started keeping her distance from the uncle upstairs, but as time went on , his behavior grew bolder, crossing more and more lines.
It started with him stealing her underwear and groping her. Then he began lurking in the corridor outside the bathroom window, trying to peek while she bathed. Eventually, he crossed the final line—climbing into her bed.
Hearing the girl's desperate voice, I felt a surge of fury rise in my chest. Such a disgusting beast didn't deserve to be called human at all!
To be honest, even among us police officers — and even in the eyes of criminals —there are degrees of crime. Some acts are considered far viler than others.
The perverted acts of the girl’s upstairs neighbor were among the lowest of the low — the kind of depravity even criminals look down on.
I took the girl to give her statement, and partway through , I called in a female colleague to speak with her about the more sensitive details.
Her name was Lily Johnson. She was just seventeen. At such a tender, blooming age, this girl this girl — like a flower just beginning to open — had her life shattered by that monster upstairs.
The assault took place the night before. While asleep, the girl vaguely sensed someone climbing into her bed — but her eyelids felt unbearably heavy, and her body was too weak to move.
Early the next morning, as the girl got out of bed, she felt something was off. Looking down, she realized her pajama pants had been removed — and on the inside of her thigh, a sticky, milky-white stain remained.