My Son Visited Our Neighbor Daily ‘To Cook’ – I Walked in One Day and Called the Police

Yet, I thought even the most reclusive person in our neighborhood was okay.

Let me give you some background: I’m Kayla, a 32-year-old single mom to my seven-year-old son, Eli.

We live in a peaceful little area. It’s a cul-de-sac where everyone has a perfectly manicured lawn and most people nod or wave in passing. We all know almost everyone’s names, too.

My place is cozy and full of little projects that Eli and I work on together, like the vegetable garden out front. A few months ago, we even made a birdfeeder from scratch.

Because of this, I knew my son would grow up to love working on his house and helping others. Which is why what happened next was only a little strange at first.

At the end of our street is a house that I’ve always found a bit unsettling. It’s this old, ivy-covered place, with hedges that have grown wild and oak trees that are far too large now.

It’s the kind of place kids would dare each other to approach for Halloween. Our neighbor, Ms. Eleanor, lives there. She’s way past her 70s and a complete loner, unlike some of our other elderly neighbors. She’s also mysterious, and her curtains are always closed.

Because she’s so different and doesn’t seem to fit in, people around here whisper about her now and then. It’s nothing too crazy.

I’ve wondered about her life, but honestly, I didn’t care enough to approach her. Still, I shrugged off anyone who even suggested something bad about her. Ms. Eleanor was allowed to live her life as she wanted.

This is where things changed. One day after school, Eli burst through the front door and exclaimed, “Mom! You won’t believe this! Ms. Eleanor asked me to bake cookies with her!”

I blinked while stirring the stew I was making for dinner that day. “Ms. Eleanor? The lady at the end of the street?”

“Yes! She said we’re making them from nothing. Can I go, please?”

His question threw me off. “Ms. Eleanor… invited you… to her house?”

She didn’t exactly seem like the “baking with kids” type.

But Eli nodded eagerly and said he’d love to learn. To be fair, I was great at cooking, but my baking was a gamble.

So, I shrugged and agreed. “Alright, but remember to be polite and come home before dinner, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom! See ya!” he said and zipped out the door.

Though I smiled at the idea that my son had been nice to the one person in the neighborhood who seemed to have no one, it was a little troubling. Ms. Eleanor was a stranger to me, after all.

I’d lived in the area since my son was one, and I had never talked to her. But she was an old woman; what harm could she really do?

That evening, Eli came home with a plate of cookies. “Look! Ms. Eleanor made me make these on my own. I had to look at the clock by the oven and everything!” he said proudly.

They were slightly burnt, but I could tell he was thrilled. “Wow, they look great, honey! Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! Her kitchen is like a movie! It’s all old stuff! And she said she can make everything I like.”

He told me all kinds of other details during dinner, and by the time he went to bed, I was immensely proud of him. He probably knew how others saw Ms. Eleanor. Yet, he only saw a real person who could teach him stuff.

I was raising a good kid! I thought, and my earlier worries disappeared.

***

Eli continued visiting Ms. Eleanor and returned with something new from her house daily. He was learning so much, and he seemed so happy. Maybe he’ll grow up to become a pastry chef.

I was daydreaming of my son on “Cake Boss,” when he arrived, waving an envelope in his hand. “Look, Mom! Ms. Eleanor is paying me!”

My eyebrows rose, but I remained silent as my son took out a $10 bill from the envelope.

“What do you mean paying you?”

“She said that since she’s eating, too, I deserve some money,” Eli explained, smiling at the bill.

“That’s… nice of her, I guess. But honey, I don’t know. She’s paying for all the ingredients and teaching you. Did you do any chores for her, or something?”

He shook his head. “No, I just stir,” he said and scratched his head. “Oh! I also help her dry everything after she washes the dishes. It’s hard because she doesn’t have a washing machine…”

My son rambled on while I tried not to overthink this situation. It felt wrong to let him keep her money. But was there any harm in that?

The following week, though, things got weirder. Eli came home with another envelope, and there was $20 inside.

I couldn’t let that go this time. Something was wrong. An old, most likely retired woman had to be on a fixed income. Why was she paying him? What was happening over there?

So, I sat down with him and kept my voice calm. “Eli, honey, I really need you to tell me what’s going on with Ms. Eleanor. Why does she keep giving you money? What’s happening at her house?”

“It’s for all the help I’m giving her. Right? The chores, like you said? No?”

“Maybe, but she’s already spending money on ingredients and helping you. Taking more from her is not right. Are you sure nothing else but baking is happening over there? You can tell me.”

“No, Mom! She just… she just likes baking with me,” he said but looked away. He began to fidget like he always did when he was hiding something.

“Eli…” I warned.

“Okay… we’re doing another thing. But it’s a surprise. It’s good, but I can’t tell you.”

“No, Eli. You can’t hide things from your mother,” I said. I was getting stern. “I don’t think you should be going there anymore until I talk to her.”

“Wait! No! Mom, you’ll ruin the surprise! Please!” Eli wailed. “I will give back the money, but please no. Wait. The surprise is almost ready!”

I sighed and nodded, but I wasn’t letting it go.

***

I stewed over this situation while Eli was at school the next day. And I admit, my mind went to strange places.

What if Ms. Eleanor wasn’t just being “nice?” What if she had different intentions?

After worrying myself sick, I called Mrs. Olivers, who lived only five houses away from Ms. Eleanor. I asked her if I should stop my son from going over there.

But she scoffed after I explained everything. “Kayla, please. Ms. Eleanor is not some witch like the kids say. Be glad you have a son who enjoys being around older people. Send him my way if he wants to do chores around my house.”

That wasn’t helpful. I had to find what was truly going on. But I didn’t want to let my son down, so I made a plan.

When Eli arrived home from school, I told him I would drop him off at Ms. Eleanor’s house. He was only confused but shrugged as we walked over.

When we got close, though, he went right in, and I didn’t even get a chance to speak to Ms. Eleanor before my kid closed the door with a small wave and a “bye” for me.

Instead of going back to my home, I circled the house. The closed curtains were a problem, but at the back, I found a slight opening where I could peek inside. What I saw made my jaw drop.

Eli was there, but he and Ms. Eleanor weren’t in the kitchen. They were at a table, and I could see some papers, perhaps photographs, set in a circle on top.

And Ms. Eleanor was there, too, looking over his shoulder and giving him directions. Something about this scene gave me goosebumps. Was it some kind of ritual?

It was so confusing, but I finally had confirmation that they weren’t really baking!

I couldn’t remain hidden any longer, so I walked to the back door and was lucky to find it unlocked. I burst in, ready to defend my baby.

“What on earth is going on here?” I blurted, stomping to them.

Ms. Eleanor’s face turned ghostly pale. “Kayla, I… I didn’t expect you…”

I didn’t even pay attention to her. I confirmed that the papers on the table were photographs, but my eyes widened in horror at what they depicted: me and Eli, all around town.

Some photos were direct from my social media, but others were candid — at neighborhood potlucks and around town. A few were photos of just him, and I was horrified.

God, what did I let my son walk into?

I didn’t have time to figure that out, though. I had to take action immediately. “I’m calling the police!”

“No!” Ms. Eleanor pleaded, but I was already dialing.

Eli’s eyes were huge, and his face was red with embarrassment. But I didn’t care. I was his mother, and I knew better.

***

I was outside with my son when the police arrived. Two officers got out of the car, and I explained what I knew, which wasn’t much and probably confused them. Still, they took my concerns seriously as they entered Ms. Eleanor’s house.

“Mom,” Eli tried to speak for the millionth time.

“Hush, hon,” I said. “I know you think there’s nothing wrong. But there is.”

We waited several minutes in silence before one of the officers came out. She had a tender smile, which I didn’t understand, and told me to go inside because I needed to hear the old woman’s explanation.

I didn’t want to go back in with Eli, but I wouldn’t leave him with another stranger, even if she was a cop.

“Kayla, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ms. Eleanor started when I stepped inside.

“Really? Well, maybe don’t encourage my son to hide things from me as a ‘surprise,'” I retorted, and the cop gave me an exasperated look.

Ms. Eleanor’s hands shook as she reached for one of the photos on the table. “I know I should’ve explained sooner, but… I just didn’t know how,” she said in a solemn voice.

The officer gave her a gentle nod, and I felt my anger simmering, but I bit my tongue, waiting for her to keep speaking.

Ms. Eleanor took a shaky breath and looked over at Eli. “Your son… he reminded me of my own grandson,” she said quietly. “He passed away a few years ago, along with my daughter. He was around Eli’s age, and I’ve been alone ever since.”

All the breath left my lungs. But I couldn’t be pacified so easily. “I-I’m so-sorry for your loss, but that doesn’t explain the money and the photos of us.”

She looked down, nodding. “Eli talked about your birthday coming soon, and one of the best gifts I ever received was a scrapbook. He loved that idea. He gathered all those photos from the computer, I think, and some neighbors. I’ve been giving him money to get them printed at his school’s library.”

My anger had dissipated as everyone stared at me. I looked down at my kid, who was slightly grinning, though disappointed. “But why didn’t you tell me, Eli?” I asked.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, and I also took photos from your private box,” Eli answered, shrugging. “Ms. Eleanor said I should tell you the money was payment for the baking help.”

“That was wrong of me,” Ms. Eleanor added. “The truth would’ve been better. But… your boy has been a light in my life these past few weeks after years of not being able to be around people. I was just trying to help him as much as he’s helped me. It was nice to have a secret between us like I used to with my grandson.”

My heart constricted, and my face heated up as the reality sank in. I’d misread everything. Not only that, but I had let my imagination run wild.

The police officers left after I apologized profusely. I took a deep breath once it was just the three of us.

“I’m sorry for ruining the surprise, Eli,” I said to my son, who I knew had already forgiven me. But then, I looked at the older woman. “I’m sorry that I even thought anything bad about you. Maybe we can finish the scrapbook together. As an apology?”

Ms. Eleanor’s face lit up, and her eyes got watery. “I’d love that.”

And just like that, everything was right in my world again. But even better, we witnessed Ms. Eleanor opening up to the world soon enough.

She started watering her plants, talking to people walking by, giving cookies to other kids, and even helping babysit once word got out that she was good with children.

Neighborhood potlucks were a little too much for her, but she sent some food with me. Honestly, she might never be the most social person, but this was more than enough.

My son helped her with that, and that kind of gesture is the mark of a truly fantastic person.

Here’s another story: I hired the same Santa actor to come to our house for three years straight. But it was only last Christmas Eve that I stumbled upon him in the bathroom and discovered why he was so dedicated to us… actually, to my son.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.