“I do, Karen. You can see it on her.”
She reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. “Promise me you won’t get involved. Whatever’s going on next door, it’s not our problem.”
I nodded, but I didn’t really mean it.
That afternoon, I watched Mrs. Harper fill in another hole as the sun dipped behind the trees. And just before she turned to go inside, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before the upstairs curtain twitched.
She wasn’t burying something out there.
She was hiding it.
And someone inside that house was watching her do it.
The next Saturday, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I walked to the fence, wiped my hands on my jeans, and called over with the friendliest voice I could manage.
“Mrs. Harper? Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
She didn’t look up. The shovel kept moving, slow and tired, like each scoop weighed a hundred pounds.
“Mrs. Harper?”
She froze. “Oh. Hello, dear.”
“I was just curious,” I said, leaning against the wood. “What exactly are you planting back there? I’ve never seen anything grow.”
The shovel slipped from her hands and hit the dirt with a soft thud.
“Nothing important,” she whispered.
“It’s just… every weekend, I see you out here. Mrs. Harper… what exactly are you digging for back there? Do you need any help?”
Her eyes flicked toward her own back window. Just for a second. But I caught it.
“I’m fine. Please, don’t worry about me.”
“Mrs. Harper”
“I have to go inside now.”
She didn’t even pick up the shovel. She just walked away, fast for a woman her age, like something was chasing her.
That night, I told Karen everything.
“She looked terrified, Karen. Not annoyed. Terrified.”
“Of you?”
“No. Of something in the house.”
Karen sighed and set down her book.
“Honey, she’s 72. She lives alone. Old people get strange. That’s just life.”
“She dropped the shovel like I’d caught her doing something illegal.”
“Or maybe she’s embarrassed. Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she doesn’t want the whole street gossiping about her.”
“Karen”
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