When I spotted my reclusive neighbor, Mrs. Harper, sneaking into my yard with a shovel, I figured it was some harmless prank. But the secrets she unearthed were far darker than I could have ever imagined, dragging me into a web of mystery and fear.
Mark and I had just moved into our new home, excited to leave the city behind for a quieter life. But something about our suburban neighborhood felt off—especially the old house next door and its strange owner, Mrs. Harper.
We had purchased our property from her, a solitary woman who kept to herself. When we met her for the first time, she barely opened the door, her eyes filled with suspicion.
Mark had heard unsettling rumors. “Did you know her husband died under suspicious circumstances?” he told me one evening.
“Just small-town gossip,” I brushed it off, though the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach lingered. Mrs. Harper’s constant peeking from behind her curtains every time we passed by only deepened the mystery.
Then everything changed one afternoon.
I was home, recovering from a cold, curled up on the couch with a cup of tea. Max, our dog, started growling at something outside. When I looked up, I froze. There, in our yard, was Mrs. Harper, hunched near the old oak tree with a shovel in hand.
“What on earth?” I muttered as I threw on shoes and headed outside.
“Mrs. Harper!” I called, startling her. She turned slowly, her face pale, hands trembling as she paused mid-dig.
“I-I wasn’t…” she stammered, avoiding eye contact.
“What are you doing in my yard?” I asked, more confused than angry.
Without answering, she reached into the hole she had dug and pulled out a small, dirt-covered bag. My heart raced as the contents rattled ominously inside.
With shaky hands, she opened the bag, revealing something that left me breathless—gold, diamonds, and what appeared to be ancient relics, glinting in the sunlight.
“My husband found these years ago,” she whispered, her voice fragile. “He used to spend hours in the woods with his metal detector, hoping to strike it rich.”
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