“Look, it’s not perfect,” Ross, my partner, said out loud when we were carrying boxes in. “But we’ll make it perfect with a few little personal touches.”

Sure, the house needed some TLC. The paint was chipped, and a few windows needed to be replaced. One of the bathrooms was in a state, with tiles that were removed mysteriously. And the kitchen plumbing needed to be replaced too.

But you know what? The price was unbeatable. And honestly, we couldn’t believe our luck. The real estate agent had seemed eager, almost desperate to close the deal, which should’ve been our first clue that something was off.

“Riley, Ross,” Hilary, the agent said. “This home is just perfect for you! Granted, there are things that need to be done, but I have a contractor that I can put you into contact with. Don’t worry about a thing! Let’s close this deal and pop some champagne.”

But we were too caught up in the excitement of buying our first home to think much of it.

As we moved our belongings into the new home, we noticed that our neighbors peeked out from behind their curtains and doors, curious to see who the new owners were.

The movers unloaded the bigger items as Ross and I sat down on the grass for an impromptu picnic. We were exhausted and starving, and suddenly the turkey and mayo sandwiches I’d picked up at the deli were the best thing we’d ever eaten.

Moments later, a woman from next door walked over, smiling curiously as she held a pie in her hands. She looked to be in her sixties, with curly gray hair and a brightly colored outfit.

“Hi there!” she called out as she made her way down the driveway. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

“Thank you!” I replied, jumping up to greet her. “I’m Sierra, and this is my partner, Mike.”

“I’m Hazel,” she said, giving me the pie. “I’ve lived next door for about thirty-five years. We don’t get new neighbors very often, so it’s a real treat to have you here! We need some young blood!”

I smiled. This woman seemed sweet, but her energy was something to get used to. She was going to be fun.

“We’re excited to be here,” I said. “This is our first house together. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but we love it!”

Hazel’s smile faltered slightly. Her eyes darted over to our house, and I noticed a flicker of something. Was it worry? Or fear?

“Oh, yes, it’s a lovely house,” she said. “But I do think that you’re very brave to buy it.”

“Brave?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “Why do you say that?”

She hesitated, glancing around as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear what she was about to say.

“Well, we all thought it was going to stay empty forever, after what happened here…”

A chill ran down my spine.

“What do you mean? What happened here? Is something wrong with the house?”

Hazel seemed to realize that she’d said too much. And by this point, Ross had left his half-eaten sandwich on his paper plate, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said. “I’m just being silly.”

But I wasn’t going to let it go. There was something in the way she was looking at the house, something that made my stomach churn.

“Please,” I asked.

“Well, it’s not something that you’d see on the news or anything. But the last few owners had a bit of an obsession. They were convinced that the house was sitting on top of a hidden treasure.”

“A treasure? Like trunks of gold or something?” I frowned.

“Not gold, exactly,” Hazel said. “They thought it was some kind of secret stash. Like antiques or rare artifacts. It all started with a rumor that the house’s original owner was a notorious smuggler back in the 1800s. People said that he used to hide his contraband in the house, and when he died, the treasure was never found.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. This sounded like something straight out of a mystery novel.

“And people believed it?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” Hazel nodded. “The first couple were completely obsessed. They tore up the floors, knocked down walls. Even dug up the garden. Anything to try and find it. They even hired some fancy archeologists from the university to check it out.”

“And? Did they find anything?” Ross asked.

“Only old bottles and scraps of clothing and some coins.”

The longer Hazel spoke, the deeper the pit in my stomach grew. The house seemed a little too cheap for its size and location, and now I was beginning to understand why.

“The next owners were just as bad,” Hazel continued, enjoying herself now. “They were convinced that the treasure was hidden somewhere no one had thought to look. Apparently they removed all the tiles in the bathrooms to look. But they never found anything either.”

I looked back at the house with new eyes, suddenly seeing all the little flaws and unfinished repairs we hadn’t noticed before.

After Hazel left, Ross and I had a good laugh about the stories she had told us.

“Look, she’s a crazy old lady. And she probably just told us that story to make us go crazy, too,” Ross said.

But I couldn’t shake off the strange feeling that her story had left me with.

Weeks went by and all I could think about was the buried treasure. I didn’t try looking for it, but it was constantly on my mind.

Then, one night, we were lying in bed, we heard faint, rhythmic tapping coming from the walls. It was so subtle at first that we thought it was just the old house settling for the night. But then it continued.

We followed the sound to the basement, where it seemed to be coming from behind a part of the wall that had been patched over.

I looked at Ross, and without saying a word, we grabbed a hammer and chisel.

“Let me do it,” he said, flexing his muscles.

“Fine,” I said, allowing him to run point on our discovery.

Finally, Ross broke through to a hollow space, and inside, we found a small metal box.

Yes, it was full of treasure, but not the type of treasure that everyone had assumed it was. Instead, we found a stack of love letters written in elegant script.

“Um, Riley,” Ross said, holding onto a letter. “This one isn’t a letter. It’s a confession from someone named Jacob. He details all his illicit activities back in his prime.”

Ross paused to read on.

“The stash isn’t gold or artifacts,” he said. “It’s secrets. Incriminating evidence against some powerful people. There’s something about a conspiracy that had never been uncovered.”

“Do you think we’re safe here?” I asked, not even trying to justify my fear.

“Baby, I don’t think so,” Ross said solemnly. “Some of these surnames belong to families that are still as rich and powerful…”

Three days later, we decided to seal the box and stuff it back into the wall. The next day, Ross plastered it carefully.

“I think we should move,” he said. “But let’s do the house up first. Let’s just put in everything we can into renovations and get a better deal than we originally got. What do you think?”

I nodded. While the strange noises ceased as we continued our renovations, there was just something ominous about it all.

I almost imagined people from these powerful families breaking into our home at night, ransacking everything and trying to find the secrets that could destroy their lives.

“I’m sorry you didn’t last longer,” Hazel said when we went over to her house the night before we moved out. She had invited us over for dinner and we were eager to try her famous roast chicken.

“We are too,” Ross said. “But we’ll still come and visit you, Hazel.”

“If you can promise it, then I promise to make my roast chicken dinners and pecan pies for you!” she exclaimed.

Now, Ross and I have moved into a smaller modern house with sharp edges and large windows. It’s a vast difference from the Victorian house we had loved, but at least this one didn’t have any stories attached to it.

Or at least, none that we knew.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

My Sweetest Old Neighbor Helped Me Unpack & Later, I Found Her Note in the Box – It Made Me Immediately Sell the House

When Phoebe decides that her new chapter begins with a divorce and a new house, she finds a little house in a sleepy neighborhood. As she gets unpacking, she meets a wonderful neighbor, who has a big responsibility for Phoebe.

When we first moved to the little house at the end of Maple Street, I was filled with hope and a sense of new beginnings. It was just my 6-year-old daughter, Lily, and I.

We were finally starting over after a difficult year: me going through a tough divorce with Lily’s father, and Lily having to navigate life without her father living in the same house.

“It’s okay, Mom,” she said softly to me one night. “I don’t like how Dad always shouted at us.”

It was clear then that we needed to break free.

From the moment I met Mrs. Thompson, she reminded me of my own grandmother. There was this motherly warmth to her that made me feel like moving here was the right decision.

“I’m Hazel,” she said, walking up to our porch with a batch of freshly baked cookies. “I’m so glad you’re moving into the neighborhood. My house is that one.”

She pointed to the little house directly next to mine.

“And who is this little girl?” she asked, seeing Lily jump into a pile of leaves.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.