Returning early from a vacation due to my wife Karen’s sudden illness, all I wanted was some rest. However, a startling discovery in our backyard altered my plans: a vast, unexplained pit.
“What on earth?” I whispered to myself, peering into the excavation.
At the bottom lay a discarded shovel, a water bottle, and various debris. My initial reaction was to dial the police, but then a thought struck me. What if the person responsible believed we were still away and planned to return?
Turning to Karen, who was visibly unwell, I suggested, “Let’s park the car inside the garage, pretend we’re not back yet.”
She agreed weakly, “Sure, Frank. I need to rest.”
As darkness enveloped our home, I stationed myself by a window, vigilant. After several fruitless hours, a figure vaulted our fence and stealthily approached the pit.
My pulse quickened as the intruder descended into the hole. Seizing the moment, I approached quietly with my phone ready.
“Hey!” I yelled, illuminating the pit with my phone’s light. “What are you doing?”
The trespasser looked up, squinting against the brightness. To my astonishment, it was George, the previous homeowner.
“Frank?” he exclaimed, just as surprised. “Why are you here?”
“This is my home now, remember? What are you doing digging in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George clambered out, his demeanor embarrassed. “Please, let me explain before you call the police.”
I folded my arms, skeptical. “Go on.”
George took a deep breath. “My grandfather once owned this house. I recently found out he might have buried something valuable here. I thought I’d retrieve it while you were gone.”
“You trespassed to hunt for treasure?” I asked incredulously.
“It sounds crazy,” George admitted. “But hear me out. Help me search, and if we find anything, we split it 50-50.”
Part of me wanted to refuse, to just call the authorities. But seeing the earnestness and desperation in his eyes, I hesitated.
“Alright,” I agreed. “But we’re restoring the yard after we’re done, find or no find.”
George nodded, relieved. “Agreed.”
We spent hours digging, exchanging life stories. “What are we even searching for?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued.
“Anything valuable. Could be cash, jewelry… my grandfather distrusted banks,” George explained.
As we dug, George shared more about his struggles—his recent job loss, his wife’s illness, how finding this ‘treasure’ could potentially alleviate some of their problems.
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