Maya decides to relocate away from the city, living in a tranquil area just outside the noise and bustle. When she arrives, she intends to settle into a tranquil existence, but her plans are quickly disrupted when she discovers that the woman across the street is up to something. I moved to the city’s outskirts in quest of serenity. I had had enough of 32 years of metropolitan cacophony, stifling crowds, and the never-ending desire for more. I want quiet. I want serenity. A space where I could breathe. But it was also a location where I could sit down and compose all of the stories that were brewing inside of me. So I stumbled upon a wonderful little cottage on the outskirts of a small community. Time seemed to slow down in this place where everyone knew each other.

But what I got was something altogether different. “Well, you’re in it now, Maya,” I told myself, pouring myself a cup of tea. Mrs. Harrington, a 60-year-old woman, was my closest neighbor. She lived in an ancient house that had seen better days. The paint flaked, the shutters hung crookedly, and weeds covered the grass. “Maybe she’s just old and doesn’t have the energy to maintain the house?” my mother asked over the phone. “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Her house just looks a bit out of place.” But it was not what drew my attention. What piqued my interest was the small cabin approximately 20 feet away from Mrs. Harrington’s residence. It was small, barely larger than a shack, with a rusted tin roof and unstable walls. “Why would anyone have that?” I grumbled as I sat on my couch and looked out the window. The more I wanted to sit down and compose my collection of stories, the more fascinated I became with Mrs. Harrington. It wasn’t the shack that was mysterious. It was the woman herself. She has been distant and unpleasant since I moved in. “I’m Maya,” I introduced myself on the first day of surveying my new property. I expected her to say hi and introduce herself. However, she avoided eye contact, dismissed any efforts at conversation, and made it apparent that she was not interested in neighborly conversations. After hearing one of the neighborhood youngsters call her on his newspaper route, I only learned her name. However, her routine remained the most peculiar aspect of her existence. Every day, like clockwork, the elderly woman went to the cabin at 9 a.m. and again at 9 p.m.

She always carried two shopping bags and spent around 20 minutes in the shanty before returning to her house. “What are you doing in there, Mrs. Harrington?” In the living room, I asked myself this question. “What’s inside there?” “Who is in there?” Suddenly, I was a detective, attempting to figure out what the woman next door was up to. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing in there. Was she storing anything? Are you hiding something? For three days, I observed her through my window, my curiosity becoming stronger. What could be more important? One afternoon, I resolved to find out for myself. I waited until I saw her come outside with her luggage before casually strolling up, pretending to be going for a walk. But the instant old Mrs. Harrington noticed me approaching the cabin, she ran out the door, her eyes blazing with rage. “Please stay away! “I’ll call the cops!” she said, her voice shrill and agitated. I came to a complete stop. Despite my wildest fantasy, I wasn’t expecting such a reaction. “I’m sorry!” I stuttered. “I just…” “Just what?” Stay away from here! “Mind your own business, girl!” she said. “Okay, I’m going!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to intrude, ma’am.” She lingered there, gazing at me, till I turned around and returned to my house. The entire time, I could feel her eyes staring into my back. What was inside that cabin that she was so determined to keep hidden? “I’m not giving up,” I stated as I entered my house. “I will find out what’s in there.” I attempted to dismiss it, telling myself that it was none of my concern. But for the following three days, I could not stop thinking about the hut. I tossed and turned at night, trying to figure out what may be within. Mrs. Harrington’s screams and the terror in her eyes did not set well with me. I needed to find out what she was concealing. One night, after seeing her make her normal 9 p.m. trek to the shack, I decided to look into it again. Before leaving through my front door, I ensured she had returned to her house and had turned off all the lights. “Why are you being so stupid, Maya?” I asked myself as I walked down the driveway. “You could have just let it go.” When I got to the hut, I discovered something I had never seen before. There was a huge padlock on the door. Mrs. Harrington was determined to keep everything inside safe. But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little gap in the wooden door, just wide enough to peek through. I paused for a while, my breath catching in my throat. “Come on, Maya, it’s not too late to run away,” I said to her.

But I was too obstinate to do it. At first, I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing. The interior was dark, but after my eyes adjusted, I nearly fainted at what I saw. Inside the hut were approximately a dozen dogs. Some were sitting down, some curled up in corners, and a few were pacing frantically. “Oh, you poor babies,” I said. They came in all shapes and sizes, but they looked exhausted and pathetic. “What in the hell?” I yelled. What was happening here? Was she hoarding these animals? Were they abused by her? I did not think. I just acted. I began pulling at the latch, attempting to force it open. “Hang on, I’ll get you all out!” I told them. But the lock wouldn’t budge, so I started hammering on the door with my fists, intending to smash it down. A light flickered on inside Mrs. Harrington’s residence. I froze, realizing too late that I had awakened her. Seconds later, I heard her front door burst open, and her footsteps rushed across the grass. “What are you doing?” she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the darkness. “Get away!” “What am I doing?” Why are you keeping all these dogs here? And locked up like this? This is cruel! “I’m calling the cops!” Mrs. Harrington approached me, her breath all over my face. But instead of the fury I expected, I noticed something different in her eyes. Desperation. “No, please,” she said, clutching my arm. “You don’t understand.” “Calm down?” You’re locking animals up in there! “How do I calm down?”

“It’s not what you think, Maya,” she added. “Please, just listen.” “You have two minutes,” I explained. “And then I’m calling the police.” “I’m not hurting them,” she explained. “I am saving them. “I am feeding them.” “What?” I inquired, puzzled. “I take in stray animals,” she stated. “I found these pets abandoned or mistreated,” she said. I brought them here because I’m confident they’ll be safe with me. It began with one, but today there are perhaps 10 of them.” “But why keep them in there?” I demanded. “There’s too many! I’m allergic to one of the breeds. If I brought them indoors, the hospital would likely accept me. But I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while they were suffering. Here, I can ensure that they have food and water. My rage evaporated away instantly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I inquired. “I’ve witnessed what happens when humans transport animals to shelters,” I said. They put them down, or they wind up on the streets again. I remained silent for a time, soaking in all she said. I’d also heard of such areas. “I can help,” I said. “Can you help me?” she inquired. “Yes,” I said forcefully. “We can’t keep them all here, but perhaps I can bring some to my place. And the two of us can find suitable homes for them. My brother-in-law is a veteran, so he’ll know what to do. In the end, I took the majority of the dogs over to my house and let them go freely in the yard. We spread out bowls of food and drink, and I set up some mats and blankets. The next day, my brother-in-law arrived with his team and took the majority of the emaciated dogs away. “I promise, Maya,” he stated. “I’ll treat these sweet little things, and I’ll find them a place to stay.” I ended up keeping two of the puppies because there is nothing better than having fuzzy companions to cherish. What would you have done?