Seven months into my pregnancy, I agreed to house-sit for my brother Victor and his wife, Anne, while they were away on vacation. Little did I know that my stay would uncover a chilling secret that still haunts me to this day. What began as an ordinary afternoon turned into a nightmare when I discovered three mysterious trash bags in their basement, and what I found inside made me run for my life.
It all started innocently enough. My brother called me two weeks before their trip, asking if I could house-sit while they attended a wedding and took a short vacation. Despite recent tension between us—mostly because Anne had become distant since my pregnancy announcement—I agreed. I thought this could be an opportunity to mend things.
The tension between Anne and me had been building over the past year. My husband Paul and I had been doing well financially, while Victor and Anne struggled after a series of failed ventures. On top of that, Anne and Victor had been trying unsuccessfully to have a child for years, and my pregnancy only seemed to exacerbate her resentment. Her coldness was obvious, from skipping my gender reveal party to hosting events and conveniently leaving us out.
Still, I wanted to believe that Anne’s offer to house-sit was a gesture of goodwill, a sign that she wanted to mend fences. So, I agreed and showed up the morning they left for the airport. As I waved goodbye to Victor and Anne, I felt a sliver of hope that this experience might help heal our relationship.
The first few days were uneventful. I spent my time watching Netflix, taking naps, and chatting with Paul over the phone. But on the fourth day, I decided to be productive and clean up the house. That’s when I ventured down to the basement to check on the furnace. I noticed three large garbage bags tucked away in a corner. Curiosity got the best of me, so I snapped a picture of the bags and sent it to Anne with a lighthearted text: “Looks like you forgot something! I’ll take care of it for you 
.”
Within seconds, my phone buzzed with a frantic response from Anne: “DON’T TOUCH THEM! GET OUT OF THE BASEMENT NOW!”
Her reaction shocked me, but it also piqued my curiosity. Why would she be so upset over a few trash bags? Against my better judgment, I approached the closest one, untied it, and opened it up.
What spilled out chilled me to my core—ritualistic tools, decayed bones, feathers, and crude voodoo dolls. And what was worse, these dolls had my face on them, each one stained with what appeared to be dried blood. I could barely comprehend what I was seeing. My mind raced as I tried to make sense of it all, but one thing was clear: Anne had been targeting me and my unborn child.
I grabbed my phone, dialed Paul with trembling hands, and told him everything. “Get out of that house now!” he shouted. “I’m on my way, but don’t wait for me. Just go!”
Heart pounding, I rushed out of the house and ran through the woods behind their property, desperate to reach the bus stop at the end of the road. Branches scratched at my face, and my swollen belly made it hard to move quickly, but I pushed forward. By the time I reached the stop, I was out of breath and terrified.
Paul arrived minutes later, his face pale with worry as he helped me into the car. “We’re going home,” he said, his voice steady but filled with anger. “You’re safe now.”
The following days were filled with anxiety as we waited for Victor and Anne to return. When they finally did, I confronted them about what I had found. Victor looked horrified as I explained everything, and when he turned to Anne for an explanation, she broke down. Through sobs, she admitted to harboring intense jealousy over my pregnancy and had resorted to extreme measures, trying to cast some sort of spell out of desperation.
It was a shocking betrayal that tore our family apart. Victor filed for divorce, and Anne disappeared from our lives. But even now, the memory of what I found in that basement lingers, a reminder that sometimes, the greatest threats come from those closest to us.
