When animal bones appeared on my porch, my husband assumed it was a prank. But as they approached, I became increasingly concerned.
I swiftly set up a covert camera to catch whoever was doing this, and the results were more frightening than I could have imagined.
The first week in our new house seemed weird, as if we were wearing someone else’s shoes. Everything seemed slightly wrong.
Our neighbors maintained a safe distance, barely nodding when we waved, while the children ran through our yard.
The streets were extremely quiet, as if everyone was waiting for something to happen.
Our six-year-old daughter Emma refused to sleep in her new room because she heard whispering in the walls. Tommy, our four-year-old son, woke up weeping and wanted to leave “the scary house.” He generally slept well.
Then came the first morning. While putting up our new mailbox outside, I saw a lovely mound of animal bones on our porch.
“George!” I shouted. “George! Come here! Now!”
He ran out in his pajamas, nearly stumbling over the doorframe.
“What’s wrong?” he inquired.
“Just neighborhood kids playing pranks,” he said dismissively.
“Kids? “What type of kids play with bones?” I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling chilly despite the brilliant brightness. “This is not normal, George! There is nothing normal about this location!
The following morning, more bones arrived—larger ones arranged precisely in a circle.
We knocked on doors all afternoon, but most folks either gave us blank glances or brief head shakes.
When we said where we lived, a woman banged her door, which reverberated down the empty street like thunder.
We then met Hilton, who lived two houses down in an old Victorian house with untamed shrubs and peeling paint. Unlike others, he eagerly opened his door to converse with us.
“Leave now before it claims you,” he cautioned us.
“The bones will keep coming,” Hilton said after us. “They usually do! They are a warning!”Get out before it is too late.”
I struggled to sleep that night, despite George’s consoling comments.
The following morning, we discovered more bones scattered around our fireplace, some of which were still warm, as if they had just fallen!
“That’s enough!” I said while making coffee.
“We will install cameras regardless of the expense.” Someone is doing this, and we will catch them.”
“I already ordered them,” George remarked, flashing his phone.
“They’ll arrive tomorrow, equipped with the best-rated online night vision and motion sensors, so nothing will evade them.”
“What if it’s something supernatural?” As I observed Emma and Tommy enjoying their breakfast, I pondered, “What if Hilton is correct?” “What if Hilton is right?” “What if something is wrong with this house?”
“We’ll deal with whatever comes,” George reassured me.
“But first, we need proof of what’s happening—no more guessing or fear, we need facts!”
As we put up concealed cameras under porch plants and trees that night, George gripped my hand and said, “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, like always.”
The film depicted Hilton sneaking up to our driveway at 3 AM and dispersing bones from a bag.
Another video from 3:47 AM captured him dumping more into our chimney, revealing his face under infrared light.
“I’m calling the police!” George cried violently, seizing his phone. “That sick guy has been terrorizing us all along!”
When cops arrived and detained Hilton, his wife broke down in tears.
“He’s obsessed,” she wailed, viewing footage on my phone. “Mr. Miller told him about treasure before he died; he’s been dreaming about it, thinking scaring you away would help!”
Hilton discovered an antique wooden box with copper candlesticks and vintage jewelry hidden beneath loose floorboards. Despite their tarnish, the contents remained attractive.
“They’re family heirlooms,” the former owner’s daughter stated when reached. “Dad talked about them often, but felt confused near the end of his life—they belong in the museum.” Thank you for finding.”
Emma and Tommy slept soundly inside the home, save for the soft creaking of the porch swing.
“Can you believe all this?” Leaning toward warmth, he said, “Why is a grown man playing ghost with animal bones?” Could some vintage candlesticks and antique jewelry be the solution?
“People go to extreme lengths for financial gain, honey—but at least you can rest assured that the house is safe!”
I laughed, finally feeling at home again. “No, I’ve just been visited by bone-scattering neighbor treasure fever!”
I used to inspect the doorway every morning in case of undesirable habits, but now I don’t notice any mistakes or sources of dread. The odd feline visitor is always welcome, unlike the bone-scattering neighbors.