When my grandpa passed away, I thought the hardest part would be moving on. I never expected him to start visiting me in my dreams with the same strange message every night. I didn’t want to believe it meant anything — until the day I finally gave in and went to the basement.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt truly stuck — like you’re running in place while the world around you keeps moving. That’s my life in a nutshell. I’m 22, and I work as a cashier at a run-down grocery store. It’s the kind of job where you smile and nod while people barely make eye contact, praying your register doesn’t freeze up again.
A young male cashier | Source: Midjourney
The pay is terrible, and by the time I cover rent and utilities for my tiny apartment, there’s barely enough left for groceries.
Life wasn’t always like this, though. I grew up in my grandpa’s house — a cozy place with creaky floors and walls full of old family photos. He raised me and my older brother, Tyler, after our parents died in a car accident.
Grandpa did his best to give us a good life and taught me everything I know about working hard and being decent.
But Tyler? He couldn’t have been more different. Immediately we turned 18, we found out our parents had left us a small inheritance. It wasn’t a fortune, but it could’ve made life a little easier.
Close up of two young adult men | Source: Midjourney
Tyler didn’t care about sharing. He drained the account, borrowed money from Grandpa, and vanished without a word.
I haven’t seen him since.
Grandpa and I didn’t talk about Tyler much after that. It hurt too much. We focused on getting by, fixing things around the house, and spending weekends fishing at the lake. Those were the good days.
Grandpa and grandson fishing | Source: Midjourney
After Grandpa passed, I thought the hardest part was over. I thought the silence in the house, the empty chair at the table, and the quiet hum of memories would be the worst. But I was wrong.
It had happened all so fast. Just two weeks ago, I walked into the house after my shift, groceries in hand, and found him on the floor. His favorite sweater was soaked in spilled tea, and the crossword puzzle he’d been working on was half-finished on the coffee table.
I remember dropping the bags, screaming his name, and shaking him like he could wake up if I just tried hard enough.
A heart attack, the doctors said. Quick and unexpected. Nothing anyone could’ve done.
Doctor delivering bad news to a patient about losing a loved one | Source: Midjourney
At the funeral, I kept waiting for Tyler to show up. Not because I wanted him there but because it felt wrong for him not to be. But, as always, my brother didn’t care enough to show his face. Just me, a scattering of neighbors, and a casket I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to.
That’s when the dreams started.
It wasn’t weird at first. Of course, I’d dream about Grandpa — he was the only family I had left. In the dreams, we were back at the lake, sitting on that old wooden dock with our fishing rods, just like we used to.
Grandpa was the same as ever: his baseball cap tilted back, his sleeves rolled up, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.
A young man sleeping | Source: Midjourney
“Caught anything yet?” I asked him in one dream, watching my line float lazily in the water.
“Nah,” he said, grinning. “You’re scaring the fish with all that talking.”
I laughed, and for a moment, everything felt normal. But then, his face grew serious, and he leaned in close.
“Listen to me, kiddo,” he said. “Check the red box in my basement.”
The first time it happened, I woke up and shrugged it off. Grief does strange things to people. But the dreams didn’t stop. Every night, the same scene. The same words.
A young man seated in his bed at night | Source: Midjourney
“Check the red box in my basement.”
After a week, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fine, Grandpa,” I muttered one morning, standing at the top of the basement stairs. “Let’s see what all this is about.”
The air down there was heavy, like the weight of a thousand memories. And then I saw it — a splash of red peeking out from beneath a pile of old newspapers.
My heart started pounding. Could this really mean something?
The red box was exactly where Grandpa said it would be, sitting beneath a dusty stack of newspapers. For a second, I just stared at it, unsure if I was more relieved or freaked out.
Young man staring at a large red box in the basement | Source: Midjourney
“Well, Grandpa,” I muttered, wiping my palms on my jeans, “let’s see what was so important.”
The lid creaked as I opened it, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Inside was nothing but fishing gear — spools of line, a box of rusty hooks, and a set of lures. There was even the old reel Grandpa used to call his “lucky charm,” though I don’t think it ever actually caught anything.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. “Is this what all the fuss was about?” I chuckled. “You really got me worked up for a tackle box?”
Shaking my head, I set the reel back inside and closed the lid. Maybe the dreams were just my brain’s way of clinging to him. Maybe it was all nonsense.
Young man opening a large old red box in the basement | Source: Midjourney
As I turned to leave, my foot clipped the edge of a nearby box.
“Crap!” I hissed as the whole stack wobbled dangerously before collapsing in a chaotic crash. Dust filled the air, and I coughed, waving it away. “Seriously? Perfect.”
But as I bent down to start picking up the mess, something caught my eye — a metal door embedded in the wall behind where the boxes had been.
A safe.
An old safe with a large circular dial | Source: Midjourney
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
It looked ancient, the kind with a big circular dial and no obvious keyhole. I crouched down, running my fingers over the cold metal.
“What’s the combination?” I muttered to myself, my mind racing.
I tried a few combinations, starting with Grandpa’s birthday. Nothing. Then I tried Tyler’s, just to see. Still nothing.
“Come on,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead. Then, almost on instinct, I tried my own birthday.
Click.
Young man opening an ancient safe | Source: Midjourney
The sound echoed in the quiet basement, and I froze. Slowly, I pulled the door open, revealing neat stacks of cash — so much that I could hardly believe my eyes. Fifty thousand dollars, at least.
My hands shook as I reached in and pulled out a note tucked beneath one of the stacks. It was Grandpa’s handwriting, shaky but familiar.
“For my boy — everything I couldn’t give you in life. Use it to build something good, and don’t let the world beat you down. Love, Grandpa.”
Tears blurred my vision as I sat back, clutching the note. He’d left it for me. After everything, he’d left me the inheritance he must’ve saved bit by bit over the years.
Thousands of US dollar notes inside an ancient safe | Source: Midjourney
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I whispered. My voice cracked, but for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to hope.
The money changed everything.
I didn’t blow it on luxury or take the easy way out. Grandpa’s note kept playing in my mind: “Build something good.” And so, I did.
Six months later, the doors to Peter’s Coffee opened, a cozy little shop tucked on the corner of Main Street.
The walls were lined with fishing memorabilia — a framed picture of Grandpa and me at the lake, his lucky reel mounted above the counter, and even the old red box, now polished and displayed by the register.
A cozy, inviting coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
People loved it. Maybe it was the smell of fresh coffee or the warm, homey vibe. Maybe it was because it was personal. I made sure to tell every customer about the man behind the name, the one who gave me everything when he had so little.
I thought about Tyler, too. I tried calling him, left messages on the only number I had, and even sent an email. But, just like before, there was no answer. Part of me wanted to be angry, but another part just hoped he was okay.
Young man smiling in his cozy coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
One evening, as the shop closed for the night, I lingered behind the counter, wiping down tables. The fishing reel above the door caught the light, and I smiled.
“See, Grandpa?” I said softly, looking around the shop. “I did it.”
I swear I felt a warm breeze sweep through the room, even though the doors were shut.
And in my mind, I heard his voice, as clear as ever:
“You did good, kiddo. You did real good.”
A young man standing in his cozy coffee shop at night | Source: Midjourney
Curious about another family mystery? You’ll love this next one: At My Grandfather’s Funeral, a Stranger Handed Me a Note – When I Read It, I Laughed Because Grandpa Had Tricked Us. What did he leave behind?
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.
I Discovered Three Garbage Bags in My Brother and Sister-in-Law’s Basement – The Contents Left Me Stunned
Seven months pregnant, I agreed to house-sit for my brother and his wife while they vacationed. One afternoon, I stumbled across three mysterious trash bags in the basement. What I found inside made me run for my life and haunts me to this day.
“Run, faster, faster, Celina,” a voice screamed in my head as I stumbled through the dense woods behind my brother’s mansion. Seven months pregnant, I gasped for air, one hand clutching my swollen belly, the other pushing away branches that scratched at my face…
The next bus stop was just beyond these trees. How could I have been so blind? So trusting?
I glanced down at my trembling hands, sticky with drying blood. Wiping them on my dress, I whispered, “We’re safe, my baby. We’re safe. Someone will get us home.”
It all started two weeks ago…
I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone when it buzzed with an incoming call. My brother Victor’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, big bro! What’s up?” I answered, trying to sound cheerful despite the tension that had been building between us lately.
“Celina! How’s my favorite sister?” Victor’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Listen, I’ve got a huge favor to ask. Anne and I are heading out of town for a week. A friend’s wedding plus a little vacation. Any chance you or Paul could house-sit for us?”
Before I could respond, I heard rustling and then my sister-in-law Anne’s voice came on the line.
“Oh, Celina, you’ll love staying here! Don’t worry about a thing, sweetie. The house practically runs itself.”
I hesitated, thinking about the cold shoulder Anne had been giving me lately.
Our relationship had become increasingly strained over the past year, ever since Paul’s business took off and our financial situation improved dramatically.
Meanwhile, Victor had faced a string of failed ventures, and I could see the toll it was taking on him and Anne.
The last straw seemed to be my pregnancy announcement. While the rest of the family had been overjoyed, Anne’s reaction was lukewarm at best.
She didn’t even bother to show up for the gender reveal party, citing being “too busy” when I called to ask why she’d missed it.
I knew it was a lie. Anne and Victor had been trying for years to conceive, with no success due to some health issues she faced. My easy pregnancy seemed to be salt in her wounds.
There was also the incident last month when Anne hosted a party to celebrate Victor finally landing a big contract. Paul and I weren’t invited, and when I politely confronted her about it later, she brushed it off with a flimsy excuse about “limited space.”
The hurt and confusion I felt then still lingered.
But now, here she was, asking me to house-sit. Was this her way of extending an olive branch? Maybe she was finally ready to move past her jealousy and resentment.
Despite my reservations, I found myself wanting to believe that this could be a turning point in our relationship.
“Sure, I’d be happy to,” I said, hope creeping into my voice. “When do you need me?”
“Morning, eight, yeah?”
“Alright, I’ll be there.”
As I hung up, my husband Paul walked in, his brow furrowing as he took in my expression.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
I explained the situation, watching as concern clouded his features.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked gently. “Things have been tense with Anne lately.”
I sighed, rubbing my belly absently. “I know, but maybe this is her way of trying to patch things up? Besides, it might be nice to get away for a bit before the baby comes.”
Paul didn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing with worry.
“I wish I could join you, but I’ve got those crucial client meetings all week,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Are you absolutely sure about this, darling?”
I nodded, trying to project more confidence than I felt. “It’ll be fine, honey. I can handle it.”
Paul didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
I leaned in, kissing him softly. “I promise. I’ll be fine.”
The following morning, I stood outside Victor and Anne’s mansion, waving goodbye to Paul as he drove away after dropping me.
My brother and sister-in-law emerged, suitcases in hand.
“Celina!” Victor swept me into a gentle hug, keeping a distance from my bulging belly. “Thanks again for doing this. We really appreciate it.”
Anne’s smile seemed forced as she air-kissed my cheek.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, her voice overly sweet. “Everything you need is inside. We’ve got to run to the airport. Have a great week, darling!”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving me alone in the massive house.
I wandered from room to room, feeling oddly out of place.
My phone buzzed with a text from Paul: “Miss you already. Call if you need anything. Love you both. 
”
I smiled, replying quickly before settling onto the couch. As night fell, the house seemed to grow larger and emptier.
The taxidermied animals on the walls seemed to stare back at me, intensifying the feeling that I was being watched.
Three days passed in a blur of Netflix binges and long naps.
On the fourth morning, I decided to be a little productive. After my daily call with Paul, I cleaned the kitchen and headed to the basement to check on the furnace.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes fell on three large garbage bags tucked in a corner.
“Weird,” I muttered. “Anne must’ve forgotten to take these out.”
I snapped a quick picture, sending it to her with a joking message: “Forgot something? Don’t worry, I’ve got trash duty covered!
”
Seconds later, my phone exploded with notifications. A text from Anne read: “DON’T TOUCH THEM! SERIOUSLY, GET OUT OF OUR BASEMENT! NOW.”
Before I could process her reaction, she called.
I answered, confused. “Anne? What’s wrong?”
“Celina, listen to me,” she hissed. “Get out of the basement. Now. Don’t look in those bags. Just go upstairs and pretend you never saw them.”
“But—”
“Just Go. Please.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, backing away. “I’m leaving now.”
I hung up, my heart pounding. What could possibly be in those bags that would make Anne react like that?
Despite every instinct screaming at me to run, curiosity won out.
I approached the nearest bag, my hands shaking as I untied the knot.
As I pulled it open, the bag tore and the contents spilled out onto the floor. The moment my eyes registered what lay before me, my blood turned to ice in my veins.
Ritual tools. Decayed chicken bones and feathers. And voodoo dolls. Dozens of crude, handmade dolls, each bearing a photo of MY FACE. Many were stained with a dark, reddish-brown substance and reeked of rot. The stench of decay filled the air, making my stomach churn.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, stumbling backward. “Oh my God, oh my God. This can’t be—”
I fumbled for my phone, dialing Paul with trembling fingers.
“Baby,” I choked out when he answered. “I need you to come get me. Now.”
“Celina, breathe,” Paul’s voice crackled through the speaker. “What happened?”
I tried to explain between gasps, my words tumbling out in a panicked jumble.
“Bags in the basement… voodoo dolls with my face… blood… Paul, I think Anne’s been trying to curse our baby!”
“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “Okay, listen to me. Get out of that house right now. Don’t wait for me, just go to the bus stop on the main road. I’m on my way.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I raced up the stairs, pausing only to grab my purse before bolting out the front door. The woods behind the house offered a shortcut to the road, and I plunged in without hesitation.
Branches whipped at my face as I ran, my pregnant belly making it hard to maneuver. I could hear my ragged breathing, punctuated by the snapping of twigs beneath my feet.
Finally, I burst out onto the road, the bus stop just a few yards away. I collapsed onto the bench, gulping in air, my hands and clothes smeared with dirt and blood from my frantic flight through the woods.
Paul’s car screeched to a halt in front of me minutes later. He leapt out, rushing to my side. “Celina! Are you okay? The baby?”
I nodded weakly, allowing him to help me into the car. As we sped away, I recounted everything I’d seen in a shaky voice.
Paul’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted them,” he muttered. “Especially not Anne. The way she’s been acting lately…”
“I can’t believe she’d do this,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “My own sister-in-law… how could she hate me this much?”
Paul reached over, squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, let’s just get you home and safe.”
The next few days passed in a haze of fear and disbelief.
Anne called repeatedly, but Paul insisted I shouldn’t speak to her until Victor returned. When they finally got back from their trip, I steeled myself for the confrontation.
We met at a neutral location, a quiet café downtown. Victor looked confused and concerned as I recounted what I’d found, while Anne’s face cycled through shock, anger, and finally, defeat.
“Is this true?” Victor demanded, turning to his wife. “Have you been… what, practicing witchcraft against my sister?”
Anne’s shoulders slumped. “I… I was jealous,” she whispered. “Your sister got everything so easily… the perfect husband, the thriving business, the baby. I just wanted what she had.”
Victor recoiled in horror. “This is insane, Anne. You need help.”
“I’m so sorry,” Anne sobbed, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, shaking my head.
“Sorry isn’t enough. You tried to hurt my baby. I can never forgive that.”
In the weeks that followed, our family splintered. Victor filed for divorce, unable to reconcile with Anne’s actions. My parents were devastated, torn between their children and the shocking betrayal.
As for me, I struggled to shake off the fear and paranoia that had taken root. Every unexplained noise, every twinge in my belly sent me into a panic.
Paul was my rock, holding me through tearful nights and accompanying me to every doctor’s appointment to ensure our baby was healthy.
Slowly, life began to normalize. But as I sat in our nursery, folding tiny onesies and dreaming of the future, I couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease.
My phone buzzed with a text from a friend: “How are you holding up?”
I typed out a response, trying to put my jumbled thoughts into words: “Still processing everything. It’s hard to believe someone so close could betray us like that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: don’t blindly trust someone just because you know them. Terror can strike from unexpected places, even from those closest to you. Stay safe out there.
”
I set down my phone, resting a hand on my belly. Our daughter kicked, strong and healthy despite everything. “We’re okay, little one,” I whispered. “We always will be.”
Leave a Reply