When I caught my reclusive neighbor, Mrs. Harper, sneaking into my yard with a shovel, I thought I’d stumbled onto some petty mischief. But the secrets she unearthed were darker than I imagined, pulling me into a web of fear and mystery.Stepping onto our new porch, I felt something between relief and unease. The suburb’s quiet was almost eerie, like the neighborhood was holding its breath. Mark and I left the city for this, seeking a fresh start, but the old house next door, with its mysterious owner Mrs. Harper, hinted at secrets we hadn’t anticipated.We’d bought the land from Mrs. Harper, an older woman who lived alone. The first time we met her, she’d glanced at us from behind her screen door, her eyes wide and wary. I didn’t think much of it, but Mark… he heard things. “Did you know her husband died under… strange circumstances?

” Mark said one evening.”It’s probably just gossip,” I said, digging into the pancakes we were sharing. “You know how people talk in small towns.” “Maybe. But there’s something off about her. Have you seen the way she peeks out her windows?”I had. But I didn’t want to admit that it had unnerved me a little too. So I shrugged, buried myself in work, and tried to ignore the fact that every time I passed by her house, I could feel her eyes on me, watching, waiting. Then came the day everything changed. I was home, sick as a dog, something that rarely happened because, well, I didn’t allow myself to get sick. But there I was, curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, trying to ignore the gnawing headache that wouldn’t quit.I was just falling asleep when Max, our dog, stood up against the window and started growling. I sat up and that’s when I saw her. Mrs. Harper was sneaking through our yard with a small shovel in her hands. She stopped near the old oak tree, the one Max had been so obsessed with lately, and started digging.