It was just another quiet Wednesday evening when I noticed a strange, faint light flickering in my backyard. At first, I thought it was the neighbor’s floodlight or maybe the glow of fireflies. But as I stepped closer, I saw a trail of small lights—almost like tiny lanterns—leading from the edge of my fence down to the back of my yard, stopping right by my old tool shed.
Confused, I followed the path, looking around for any signs of someone nearby. The lights were oddly placed, low to the ground, illuminating the grass in a warm, almost golden glow. My heart started racing as I thought about who could’ve set this up without my noticing. When I finally reached the shed, I saw a small, handwritten note taped to the door that read: “Enter if you dare. Secrets await.”
Heart pounding, I looked around, hoping to catch sight of whoever was behind this strange setup, but the yard was silent, and I felt the weight of the darkness pressing around me. After hesitating for a moment, I opened the door to the shed, the small lights casting just enough of a glow to reveal the old, dusty shelves filled with forgotten tools and gardening supplies. But something was different. The back wall of the shed had been completely cleared, and in its place was an old chest I didn’t recognize, covered in a layer of dust, as if it had been sitting there for years.
I knelt down, my curiosity getting the better of me, and lifted the lid of the chest. Inside was a collection of items that seemed out of place—a faded photograph of my backyard taken from decades ago, an old journal with pages covered in ink-smudged writing, and a small, peculiar key tied with a piece of red string.
I picked up the photograph first, studying the black-and-white image. My backyard looked almost the same as it did now, but there was something unsettling about it. The shed appeared newer, and in the corner of the photo, I noticed a shadowy figure standing by the tree line. My hands shook slightly as I put the photo down and reached for the journal, flipping through its pages.
The journal entries were cryptic, each one written in hurried handwriting with dates from the 1960s. Phrases like, “The lights are getting closer,” and “I can’t keep them away forever” filled the pages. Whoever had written this had clearly experienced something strange, something they felt was closing in on them. The last entry was a single line, written shakily as if the person had barely finished: “If you find this, you must carry on the protection.”
With a shiver, I looked back at the key lying in the chest. Did it unlock something in the shed? Or perhaps somewhere else in the yard? My mind raced with questions as I picked up the key, feeling its cold weight in my hand.
Just then, a sound behind me made me jump—a soft rustling, like footsteps on the grass. I spun around, but all I could see were the dim lights glowing softly. Gathering my courage, I stepped out of the shed, the key clenched tightly in my hand, wondering what secrets my backyard had been hiding all these years—and if I was ready to uncover them.
