The children who lived next door were consistently reticent until they commenced construction of a treehouse. I enjoyed it harmlessly at first, but then the weird, late-night noises started. While they were away, I looked into it out of curiosity, and what I discovered completely chilled me.

My neighbor has always been nosy to me. Call it a weakness in my character, but I’ve earned the right, at fifty-five, to monitor my little enclave of suburban bliss. I thought the Fogg family would liven up my boring days of watching soap operas and doing crossword puzzles when they moved in next door two years ago.

Mr. and Mrs. Fogg were as interesting to watch as a paint drying. But what about their children? That was an entirely different matter.

Mia, 9, and Lucas, 12, made so much noise that they could have passed for ghosts. I promise that I never heard even a whisper from them.

Nothing, not even a fight or chuckle. Just the two tiny shadows that darted here and there across the yard.

I made the decision to act independently one day. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I exclaimed as I marched straight up to their fence and put on my warmest smile.

Mia and Lucas stopped like deer caught in headlights. They gave me a long uncomfortable look and then, without saying anything, they hurried inside.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” I muttered to myself.

I had no idea that things would get even stranger than they already were.

It began quite innocently. When I looked out my kitchen window one bright Saturday morning, I saw Lucas and Mia dragging wooden planks across their backyard.

“Come take a look at this, Frank,” I called to my husband. The Fogg children are constructing something.

Frank strolled over, holding a glass of water. Annette, that looks like a treehouse. Well done, guys. Perhaps it will help them come out of their shells a little.”

I gave a nod, but something felt off.

After spending two years hardly leaving the house for anything but school, those kids were suddenly big fans of the great outdoors? It was not adding up.

I noticed that I was spending an increasing amount of time at that window as the days passed.

For two kids working alone, the treehouse was coming together faster than I would have imagined.

It was strange that Mr. and Mrs. Fogg never seemed to offer assistance or even inquire about their progress.

Lucas, I said to him one evening as I was trimming my rosebushes, “That’s quite the project you’ve got there, young man!”

He stopped, hammer in midswing, and gave me a disconcerting look. Wordlessly, he returned to his work.

Even though it was a warm evening, I shivered.

Later that evening, I said to Frank, “Don’t you think there’s something wrong with those kids?”

Without taking his eyes off his newspaper, he sighed. “Honey, not everyone is meant to be a social butterfly, Annette. Give them space.”

However, I was unable to. I was determined to find out what was going on because I sensed something.

The sounds I heard late at night were what really bothered me as the days went by.

It was just the infrequent sound of hammering after dark at first. But before long, it was happening every night. Whispered conversations that were too faint to be heard over the night air, scraping and dragging.

I sneaked over to the window one especially restless night and looked out.

In the moonlight, the treehouse was hardly visible, but I could see two tiny figures moving in and out of the structure. They had something in their hands.

“Frank,” I murmured to wake my husband. “Frank, you need to see this.”

He rolled over with a groan. “Please, Annette. The night is halfway through. It can wait until morning, whatever it is.”

However, it was unable to. It couldn’t, I knew that.

The next warm evening, while Frank was away on business, my inquisitiveness ultimately won out. The house felt too empty, too quiet, and my thoughts kept straying to the weird things going on next door.

I paced the kitchen, murmuring to myself, “This is ridiculous.” “They are only children. What on earth might they be planning?”

However, the persistent sensation would not go away. I let out a resigned sigh, reached into the junk drawer for my reliable flashlight, and slipped out the back door.

I crept across the yard, the thick, humid night air clinging to my skin.

My heart was racing so hard I thought everyone in the neighborhood could hear it as I stayed in the shadows. I hid behind my hydrangea bushes and peered through the leaves as I got closer to the fence.

The treehouse was standing there. There was a flickering soft glow inside that cast unsettling shadows on the nearby branches. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what was going on.

I saw them at that point. It was late in the evening, but Lucas and Mia were still wide awake, hauling something up into their fortress. Something big, dark, and… not quite right in shape.

Trash sacks?

My breath caught in my throat as I froze. My thoughts were racing, picturing a thousand horrible scenarios. What in the world could two kids need in the middle of the night with trash bags?

I saw them carry bag after bag up into the treehouse on trip after trip. The knot in my stomach got tighter with every load.

After what felt like hours, they finally vanished inside and pulled up the rope ladder.

Cool breeze rustled through the leaves as I stood there in the dark, my legs cramping from standing so close to the ground for so long. Rather than being relieved that something terrible hadn’t happened, I felt more uneasy than before.

Ideas raced through my head as I skulked back to my abode. What were those children concealing? More importantly, what action was I going to take?

I knew for sure that I wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight.

An aghast, shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

I made up my mind while I lay in my room and listened to the odd noises coming from next door. Tomorrow I was going to look into it while the kids were at school.

I waited impatiently for the school bus to leave the following morning. My heart was racing with every step as I marched across the yard as soon as it was out of sight.

The treehouse was much more intimidating up close as it towered over me. At the foot of the ladder, I faltered, uncertain all of a sudden.

I whispered to myself, “Annette, stop being so silly.” “They are young people. What might they be concealing?”

I took a deep breath and started to climb.

I stepped on something as I got to the top. Then there was a loud clang that almost knocked me off the ladder.

“What in the world?” Clinging to the rungs, I gasped.

My heart rate went back to normal and I started laughing. An alarm system. I had underestimated the intelligence of these children.

As I climbed inside, I looked around. It felt comfortable. There were broken toys all over the floor, and books and comics were stacked on the walls’ shelves. There were tools everywhere, showing how hard they had worked.

Then I noticed them: the enigmatic trash bags.

My hands were shaking as I grabbed the closest one. What I found inside was junk. Candy wrappers, ripped clothing, and folded paper. The bag felt strangely heavy though.

As I dug further, my fingers came into contact with something sturdy. Books. unused, still in its plastic wrapper.

Confusion gripped my brow. For what reason would they conceal books? Where did they obtain them, too?

Before I could look into it more, I heard voices getting closer.

“The alarm went off — someone’s here!” Mia was calling, her voice tremulous with fear. The children had not attended school.

“Don’t worry, I brought my bat,” Lucas said, projecting an excessive amount of seriousness from a 12-year-old.

I stopped, thinking how this must appear. Me, an adult, nosing around in their personal area.

“Lucas, Mia,” I uttered shakily. “This is Annette. I apologize profusely for intruding upon you. I simply wanted to check out your setup.”

At the door, Lucas’s face materialized, his eyes staring directly into mine. “You? How come you’re up here? You weren’t supposed to be in here.”

“You are entirely correct. That’s not an excuse; I was concerned about the two of you. I shouldn’t have done this kind of invasion of privacy.”

Nobody said anything for a while. Then, to my surprise, it was Mia’s little voice. It’s alright, Annette, Ms. We are aware of our strange behavior.

Lucas gave her a glare, but she went on. “Perhaps—perhaps we could clarify? It could be pleasant to have a conversation.”

Lucas nodded slowly. “All right. However, you must swear not to tell anyone. Particularly not our parents.”

I lifted a somber hand. “I promise.”

So they told me everything while they sat cross-legged on the floor of the treehouse.

The marriage of their parents was disintegrating. Their home was filled with tension and constant arguments, which was suffocating them.

“We located Grandma Winter’s address,” Mia said, tears welling up in her eyes. “She had no idea who we were. was alienated. Parents kept her at a distance.”

Lucas took up the thread. “We located her address in the library’s directory. We wrote to her and shared everything with her. He pointed to the books and said, “And she sent us these to a friend’s address we’d given her.” “said reading helped her through tough times.”

With hope in her eyes, Mia continued, “She’s going to come for us.” In order to get closer, she is selling her house. All we need to do is hang on a little bit longer.”

These kids were being forced to grow up far too quickly, and it broke my heart for them.

I said, “Oh, sweethearts,” and held my arms out. They both fell into them, their tiny bodies trembling with sobs, much to my surprise.

I stroked their hair and muttered, “It’s going to be okay.” “I’ve arrived here. You are no longer by yourself.

The weeks that ensued were extremely busy. As I got to know the kids better, I started to sneak them new books and treats while being careful not to let their parents know.

Subsequently, on a bright morning, a moving van approached the Fogg residence.

An elegant older woman emerged, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight, and I watched her from my window. Lucas and Mia threw themselves into her arms as soon as they emerged from the house.

It was Grandma Winter.

After weeks of divorce proceedings, the farewell was bittersweet.

As their kids packed, Mr. and Mrs. Fogg, engrossed in their own drama, hardly seemed to notice. However, I was present, assisting with packing and unpacking cherished toys.

“Miss Annette, we shall miss you,” Mia sighed and gave me a strong hug.

I fought back the tears. “My love, I’ll miss you too. However, this isn’t the end. Simply put, see you later.”

I had a twinge of hope and sadness as they drove off. After everything those kids had endured, they finally had a chance at happiness.

After six months, I still get a little smile on my face whenever I see the treehouse, which is now occupied by squirrels and raccoons. I consider how easily I could have missed the truth hiding behind what I believed I saw, and how quick I was to draw conclusions.

Those children gave me a priceless lesson. The most remarkable tales can occasionally be found hidden in the most commonplace locations. All you need to do is set aside some time to look and listen.