A collection of Stories I've done for school

Neighbors

                One door down to the left lives a family few know much about, they stay inside only coming out to get in one of their many cars and drive off. I am one of those few. You see, they didn't use to be so reclusive. Back in the earlier days of my youth the child in the family, a boy whose name nobody, not even me, can remember, we'll call him Billy, came outside to play. He would come out of his home through the garage, I don't think I ever saw their front door open, basketball in hand to shoot hoops as the kids say. Whenever I heard the basketball bouncing off the pavement and the swish of the net as the ball based effortlessly through the hoop I would rush out, ready to play. We would play H.O.R.S.E, 1 on 1, and many other games for hours on end. Eventually, the sweltering heat of the Florida sun would get to me and I would head inside to the cool air of my home and the refreshing taste of lemonade. Every time I went inside, Billy was still out there, playing basketball, but when I would go back out, he would have vanished, like a memory from one's childhood. 

              Years went by and Billy began to come out less and less. It got to the point where I would go months without seeing him until, suddenly, there were those familiar sounds. I would put on my sneakers and head out to play. And so it went on. This, however, like a bowl of ice cream, would not last long and soon Billy stopped coming out completely. I began to wonder what was going on. Their garage would still be open on occasion and I would see Billy's father talking on his phone while sitting in an armchair, but never Billy himself. I began to theorize as to what had happened, had they sent him off to a boarding school somewhere far, far away like England? Or maybe, they had grounded him for life, locking him in his room and only letting him out to go to school? Or perhaps, even more extreme, they had sent him away to some boot camp and, not prepared for the rigors of the training, he had died. This I decided was the most likely case, why else would he have never returned or gone outside again? He had to walk to the bus after all.

One doors down to the left lives, a family whose lives are a mystery to most, but not to me, for I was there when they stopped coming outside.

(A spoof of film noire detective in tone, writen in 45mins (roughly))