When animal bones started appearing on my doorstep, my husband dismissed it as a prank. But as they kept coming, fear crept in. I set up a hidden camera to catch the culprit, and what it revealed was far more chilling than I ever imagined.
At 34, what more could I ask for? I had a loving husband who still looked at me like I was his whole world and two beautiful children who filled our days with laughter and sticky kisses. Life was perfect until we moved into that house.
George said it was a steal, but from day one, something felt wrong. The first week in the new house felt like wearing someone else’s shoes. Everything was just slightly off.
Our neighbors kept their distance, barely managing a nod when we waved. Even the kids seemed to hurry past our yard. The streets felt eerily quiet like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.
“They’re just not used to new faces,” George said, wrapping his arms around me as we watched another neighbor hurry past without a glance. “Give it time, Mary.”
“I don’t know, George. Something feels different here.
Did you see Mrs. Peterson literally run inside when I tried to say hello? And the way Mr.
Johnson shields his kids whenever they walk past our house?”
“Honey, you’re overthinking it. We left a tight-knit community. This is just an adjustment period.
Remember how long it took us to feel at home in our old place?”
I wanted to believe him, but there was something eerie in the air here that made my skin crawl. Our six-year-old daughter Emma refused to sleep in her new room, claiming she heard whispers in the walls. Our four-year-old son Tommy, who usually slept like a rock, kept waking up crying, begging to leave “the scary house.”
Then came that first morning.
I stepped out to install our new mailbox, breathing in the crisp morning air, when I saw a neat pile of animal bones right on our doorstep. They looked freshly cleaned, arranged in a deliberate circular pattern. My hands trembled as I dropped the mailbox with a clang.
“George!” I shrieked. “George, come here! Right now!”
He rushed out, still in his pajama pants, almost tripping over the doorframe.
“What’s wrong, hon?” His face fell as he saw the bones. “Just neighborhood kids playing pranks. Has to be.”
“Kids?
What kind of kids play with bones?” I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling suddenly cold despite the warm morning sun. “This isn’t normal, George. Nothing about this place is normal.
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