Seven months pregnant, I agreed to house-sit for my brother and his wife while they vacationed. One afternoon, I stumbled across three mysterious trash bags in the basement. What I found inside made me run for my life and haunts me to this day.
“Run, faster, faster, Celina,” a voice screamed in my head as I stumbled through the dense woods behind my brother’s mansion. Seven months pregnant, I gasped for air, one hand clutching my swollen belly, the other pushing away branches that scratched at my face…
The next bus stop was just beyond these trees. How could I have been so blind? So trusting?
I glanced down at my trembling hands, sticky with drying blood. Wiping them on my dress, I whispered, “We’re safe, my baby. We’re safe. Someone will get us home.”
It all started two weeks ago…
I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone when it buzzed with an incoming call. My brother Victor’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, big bro! What’s up?” I answered, trying to sound cheerful despite the tension that had been building between us lately.
“Celina! How’s my favorite sister?” Victor’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Listen, I’ve got a huge favor to ask. Anne and I are heading out of town for a week. A friend’s wedding plus a little vacation. Any chance you or Paul could house-sit for us?”
Before I could respond, I heard rustling and then my sister-in-law Anne’s voice came on the line.
“Oh, Celina, you’ll love staying here! Don’t worry about a thing, sweetie. The house practically runs itself.”
I hesitated, thinking about the cold shoulder Anne had been giving me lately.
Our relationship had become increasingly strained over the past year, ever since Paul’s business took off and our financial situation improved dramatically.
Meanwhile, Victor had faced a string of failed ventures, and I could see the toll it was taking on him and Anne.
The last straw seemed to be my pregnancy announcement. While the rest of the family had been overjoyed, Anne’s reaction was lukewarm at best.
She didn’t even bother to show up for the gender reveal party, citing being “too busy” when I called to ask why she’d missed it.
I knew it was a lie. Anne and Victor had been trying for years to conceive, with no success due to some health issues she faced. My easy pregnancy seemed to be salt in her wounds.
There was also the incident last month when Anne hosted a party to celebrate Victor finally landing a big contract. Paul and I weren’t invited, and when I politely confronted her about it later, she brushed it off with a flimsy excuse about “limited space.”
The hurt and confusion I felt then still lingered.
But now, here she was, asking me to house-sit. Was this her way of extending an olive branch? Maybe she was finally ready to move past her jealousy and resentment.
Despite my reservations, I found myself wanting to believe that this could be a turning point in our relationship.
“Sure, I’d be happy to,” I said, hope creeping into my voice. “When do you need me?”
“Morning, eight, yeah?”
“Alright, I’ll be there.”
As I hung up, my husband Paul walked in, his brow furrowing as he took in my expression.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
I explained the situation, watching as concern clouded his features.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked gently. “Things have been tense with Anne lately.”
I sighed, rubbing my belly absently. “I know, but maybe this is her way of trying to patch things up? Besides, it might be nice to get away for a bit before the baby comes.”
Paul didn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing with worry.
“I wish I could join you, but I’ve got those crucial client meetings all week,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Are you absolutely sure about this, darling?”
I nodded, trying to project more confidence than I felt. “It’ll be fine, honey. I can handle it.”
Paul didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
I leaned in, kissing him softly. “I promise. I’ll be fine.”
The following morning, I stood outside Victor and Anne’s mansion, waving goodbye to Paul as he drove away after dropping me.
My brother and sister-in-law emerged, suitcases in hand.
“Celina!” Victor swept me into a gentle hug, keeping a distance from my bulging belly. “Thanks again for doing this. We really appreciate it.”
Anne’s smile seemed forced as she air-kissed my cheek.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, her voice overly sweet. “Everything you need is inside. We’ve got to run to the airport. Have a great week, darling!”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving me alone in the massive house.
I wandered from room to room, feeling oddly out of place.
My phone buzzed with a text from Paul: “Miss you already. Call if you need anything. Love you both. 😘”
I smiled, replying quickly before settling onto the couch. As night fell, the house seemed to grow larger and emptier.
The taxidermied animals on the walls seemed to stare back at me, intensifying the feeling that I was being watched.
Three days passed in a blur of Netflix binges and long naps.
On the fourth morning, I decided to be a little productive. After my daily call with Paul, I cleaned the kitchen and headed to the basement to check on the furnace.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes fell on three large garbage bags tucked in a corner.
“Weird,” I muttered. “Anne must’ve forgotten to take these out.”
I snapped a quick picture, sending it to her with a joking message: “Forgot something? Don’t worry, I’ve got trash duty covered!😉”
Seconds later, my phone exploded with notifications. A text from Anne read: “DON’T TOUCH THEM! SERIOUSLY, GET OUT OF OUR BASEMENT! NOW.”
Before I could process her reaction, she called.
I answered, confused. “Anne? What’s wrong?”
“Celina, listen to me,” she hissed. “Get out of the basement. Now. Don’t look in those bags. Just go upstairs and pretend you never saw them.”
“But—”
“Just Go. Please.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, backing away. “I’m leaving now.”
I hung up, my heart pounding. What could possibly be in those bags that would make Anne react like that?
Despite every instinct screaming at me to run, curiosity won out.
I approached the nearest bag, my hands shaking as I untied the knot.
As I pulled it open, the bag tore and the contents spilled out onto the floor. The moment my eyes registered what lay before me, my blood turned to ice in my veins.
Ritual tools. Decayed chicken bones and feathers. And voodoo dolls. Dozens of crude, handmade dolls, each bearing a photo of MY FACE. Many were stained with a dark, reddish-brown substance and reeked of rot. The stench of decay filled the air, making my stomach churn.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, stumbling backward. “Oh my God, oh my God. This can’t be—”
I fumbled for my phone, dialing Paul with trembling fingers.
“Baby,” I choked out when he answered. “I need you to come get me. Now.”
“Celina, breathe,” Paul’s voice crackled through the speaker. “What happened?”
I tried to explain between gasps, my words tumbling out in a panicked jumble.
“Bags in the basement… voodoo dolls with my face… blood… Paul, I think Anne’s been trying to curse our baby!”
“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “Okay, listen to me. Get out of that house right now. Don’t wait for me, just go to the bus stop on the main road. I’m on my way.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I raced up the stairs, pausing only to grab my purse before bolting out the front door. The woods behind the house offered a shortcut to the road, and I plunged in without hesitation.
Branches whipped at my face as I ran, my pregnant belly making it hard to maneuver. I could hear my ragged breathing, punctuated by the snapping of twigs beneath my feet.
Finally, I burst out onto the road, the bus stop just a few yards away. I collapsed onto the bench, gulping in air, my hands and clothes smeared with dirt and blood from my frantic flight through the woods.
Paul’s car screeched to a halt in front of me minutes later. He leapt out, rushing to my side. “Celina! Are you okay? The baby?”
I nodded weakly, allowing him to help me into the car. As we sped away, I recounted everything I’d seen in a shaky voice.
Paul’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted them,” he muttered. “Especially not Anne. The way she’s been acting lately…”
“I can’t believe she’d do this,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “My own sister-in-law… how could she hate me this much?”
Paul reached over, squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, let’s just get you home and safe.”
The next few days passed in a haze of fear and disbelief.
Anne called repeatedly, but Paul insisted I shouldn’t speak to her until Victor returned. When they finally got back from their trip, I steeled myself for the confrontation.
We met at a neutral location, a quiet café downtown. Victor looked confused and concerned as I recounted what I’d found, while Anne’s face cycled through shock, anger, and finally, defeat.
“Is this true?” Victor demanded, turning to his wife. “Have you been… what, practicing witchcraft against my sister?”
Anne’s shoulders slumped. “I… I was jealous,” she whispered. “Your sister got everything so easily… the perfect husband, the thriving business, the baby. I just wanted what she had.”
Victor recoiled in horror. “This is insane, Anne. You need help.”
“I’m so sorry,” Anne sobbed, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, shaking my head.
“Sorry isn’t enough. You tried to hurt my baby. I can never forgive that.”
In the weeks that followed, our family splintered. Victor filed for divorce, unable to reconcile with Anne’s actions. My parents were devastated, torn between their children and the shocking betrayal.
As for me, I struggled to shake off the fear and paranoia that had taken root. Every unexplained noise, every twinge in my belly sent me into a panic.
Paul was my rock, holding me through tearful nights and accompanying me to every doctor’s appointment to ensure our baby was healthy.
Slowly, life began to normalize. But as I sat in our nursery, folding tiny onesies and dreaming of the future, I couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease.
My phone buzzed with a text from a friend: “How are you holding up?”
I typed out a response, trying to put my jumbled thoughts into words: “Still processing everything. It’s hard to believe someone so close could betray us like that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: don’t blindly trust someone just because you know them. Terror can strike from unexpected places, even from those closest to you. Stay safe out there.🙏🏻”
I set down my phone, resting a hand on my belly. Our daughter kicked, strong and healthy despite everything. “We’re okay, little one,” I whispered. “We always will be.”
MY 76-YEAR-OLD HUSBAND GAVE ME A PUPPY FOR CHRISTMAS – EVEN THOUGH OUR KIDS WERE AGAINST IT!
The ornate Christmas tree shimmered with lights, and the air was thick with the scent of pine needles and gingerbread. But the festive cheer in our household was quickly overshadowed by a furry, four-legged surprise. My husband, bless his heart, had decided to gift me a puppy for Christmas.
Now, I love dogs. Absolutely adore them. But at 76, with our children long grown and flown, and our lives settled into a comfortable routine of leisurely walks and quiet evenings, a puppy felt like a bomb had been dropped on our peaceful existence.
“Surprise!” my husband announced, beaming as he led a wriggling, yipping creature into the living room. It was a golden retriever puppy, the cutest, most adorable creature I had ever seen. But the initial delight quickly gave way to a wave of apprehension.
Our children, who had visited earlier that day, were less than thrilled. “Dad, really?” my daughter exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “A puppy? At your age?” My son, ever the pragmatist, chimed in, “Who’s going to walk it every day? Who’s going to clean up after it? Who’s going to deal with the barking and the chewing?”
My husband, oblivious to the brewing storm, was already enthralled. He was naming the puppy “Champ” and making grand plans for long walks in the park. I, meanwhile, was trying to figure out how to break the news to the dog walker we’d used for our previous dog, who had sadly passed away a few years ago.
The next few days were a whirlwind. The puppy, true to breed, was a whirlwind of energy. He chewed on shoes, barked incessantly, and peed on the rug (multiple times). My husband, bless his heart, was in his element. He spent hours playing fetch in the backyard, his face beaming with joy.
But the reality of the situation quickly set in. The sleepless nights, the constant cleaning, the endless walks in the rain – it was taking a toll. My husband, despite his initial enthusiasm, was starting to look weary. His back ached, and his energy levels were dwindling.
One evening, as I watched him struggle to lift the exuberant puppy onto the couch, I realized something had to change. I sat him down and had a serious conversation. I explained how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but that perhaps a puppy wasn’t the best fit for us at this stage in our lives.
He looked at me, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. But then he smiled. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Maybe a puppy is a bit much right now.”
We decided to find a loving home for Champ. It was a difficult decision, but we knew it was the right one. We found a wonderful young couple who were eager to give Champ the attention and energy he deserved.
While we missed the playful puppy, we also enjoyed the return of our peaceful evenings. And my husband, to my surprise, seemed to enjoy the extra time to pursue his hobbies – gardening and reading – without the constant demands of a rambunctious puppy.
In the end, the Christmas puppy incident taught us a valuable lesson: sometimes, the best gifts are the ones that truly fit into our lives. And sometimes, the most loving thing to do is to let go.
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