It started innocently enough. My husband, Tom, kept glancing out our living room window, his gaze fixed on our new neighbor’s yard. I teased him about being nosy, but his expression was serious. “Something’s off,” he muttered. Curious, I joined him at the window and followed his line of sight. What I saw sent a chill down my spine.
Our neighbor, a man in his 40s, was pacing back and forth in his backyard at dusk. He seemed agitated, constantly looking over his shoulder. Then, he began digging furiously in a corner of his yard, under the cover of darkness. He worked with such intensity that it felt unsettling, especially since he’d just moved in last week.
Tom and I exchanged nervous glances. “What could he be burying?” I whispered. As if to answer my question, the neighbor dragged a large, heavy bag toward the hole. It looked ominously like it could hold something—or someone. My heart raced.
“I’m calling the police,” I said, unable to shake the feeling that we were witnessing something sinister. Within minutes, officers arrived and approached the neighbor. They unearthed the bag and revealed it was filled with trash and debris. Our neighbour sheepishly explained he was clearing out his shed. We apologized profusely, but the uneasy feeling lingered. Sometimes, our imaginations can be scarier than reality.
