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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Carbodex on 2023-07-02 20:34:51+00:00.
At the tender age of twelve, most kids are preoccupied with school, cartoons, and first crushes. In the sleepy town of Willow Creek, nestled between expansive forests and tranquil hills, I was no different. Except for one aspect – my fascination with Mr. Edwards, our seemingly harmless next-door neighbor.
It was a balmy summer in 1999 when my curiosity started to turn into unease. Mr. Edwards, a widower and a retired police officer, was a familiar figure in Willow Creek. His once strong frame was now stooped with age, his eyes often far away as if lost in the world of yesteryears. Yet, there was a certain charisma to him that belied his mundane appearance.
One evening, while playing in our backyard, I noticed Mr. Edwards digging in his garden. It wasn't unusual for him to indulge in late-evening gardening, but something was different that day. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by an anxious look, his forehead beaded with sweat. He was digging a pit, much larger and deeper than needed for any plant.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a chilling breeze swept over Willow Creek, carrying with it an eerie sense of foreboding. I watched, my curiosity piqued as Mr. Edwards continued to dig. When he was finally done, he looked around, his eyes finding mine in the dwindling twilight. He gave me a long, hard stare before abruptly going inside his house.
The next day, our peaceful town was stirred with the news of a missing person. Alice, a classmate of mine, had vanished without a trace. The news hit me like a punch in the gut, but my mind kept darting back to the sight of Mr. Edwards digging that deep pit in his garden.
Sleep became elusive as my mind teetered on the edge of a frightening revelation. Had Mr. Edwards done something to Alice? The thought was horrifying, but my twelve-year-old brain couldn't shake it off. The pit in his garden, his unnerving glance, and Alice's disappearance – everything seemed to connect, forming a terrifying picture.
Days turned into weeks, but there was no news of Alice. Our small town was shrouded in sorrow and fear. Parents clung tighter to their children, and the playful cheer that once filled the streets of Willow Creek was replaced by deafening silence. I decided I needed to find out what happened, not just for Alice, but for all of us. My quest for the truth was about to lead me down a path from which there was no return. Little did I know, I was about to face the most horrifying ordeal of my life.
It was a Saturday, three weeks after Alice's disappearance. My parents were visiting relatives in the next town, leaving me home alone for the afternoon. Gathering all my courage, I decided to sneak into Mr. Edwards' garden. I armed myself with my dad's old flashlight and my baseball bat, a poor defense against an ex-police officer, but it was all I had.
The summer heat had mellowed down into a warm, balmy afternoon. A sense of stillness hung in the air, as if the entire universe was holding its breath. I made my way around the block, so as not to arouse suspicion, and entered Mr. Edwards' backyard through a small opening in the hedge. His garden was unusually quiet, the usual chatter of birds and rustling leaves silenced.
I could see the pit from where I stood, a gaping void in the well-tended garden. My heart pounded in my chest as I approached it, my mind spinning with a thousand dreadful possibilities. Cautiously, I shone my flashlight into the pit.
It was empty.
A wave of relief washed over me. But just as I was about to turn away, something caught my eye. A piece of fabric sticking out from the loose soil near the pit. It was a small, pink piece of cloth with a familiar pattern – white daisies. Alice's favorite. She had a dress with the exact same pattern. My blood ran cold as I held the piece of fabric in my trembling hands. Just then, I heard the back door of the house creak open. My heart hammered in my chest as I quickly ducked behind a large rose bush, the thorns digging into my skin. Through the thicket of roses, I watched as Mr. Edwards, a shovel in hand, walked towards the pit. His face, usually friendly and warm, was an unreadable mask.
I felt a chill run down my spine as I watched him fill the pit with soil, his actions deliberate. Once he was done, he took a long look around before going back inside the house. As soon as the coast was clear, I bolted from my hiding spot and ran all the way back home.
With the piece of Alice's dress in my hand and the haunting image of Mr. Edwards filling up the pit etched in my mind, the horrifying truth was undeniable. Something terrible had happened, and I knew I was in way over my head. I needed to alert the authorities, but would they believe a twelve-year-old? I was on the precipice of a horrific discovery, teetering between the innocence of childhood and a nightmare too ghastly to comprehend.
As I sat alone in my room, the piece of Alice's dress felt heavy in my hand. The weight of the situation was slowly sinking in. The once familiar walls of my bedroom seemed ominous, closing in on me. The cheerful chime of my video games echoed hollowly in the dread-filled silence. Everything had changed.
The fear gnawed at me, but I knew I had to act. Fumbling with my dad’s old cell phone, I dialed the only number I knew could help - 911. My voice trembled as I explained what I'd discovered, my words tumbling over each other in my haste. The operator reassured me, promising that the police would check Mr. Edwards' house immediately.
An eternity seemed to pass before I saw the flashing lights of the police cars pull up outside Mr. Edwards' house. I watched from behind the safety of my curtain as they knocked on his door, only to receive no response. They forced their way inside, and I held my breath, waiting.
Minutes later, they reemerged with Mr. Edwards in handcuffs. His face was pale, his usual friendly demeanor replaced by a mask of shock and defeat. As they escorted him into a police car, an officer remained behind, taping off the property.
News of Mr. Edwards' arrest spread through our small town like wildfire. The next day, the local news reported that the police had discovered evidence in his house that connected him to Alice's disappearance. The town was in a state of shock; nobody could believe that the kind, helpful Mr. Edwards was capable of such a heinous act.
The following weeks were a blur of police visits, news interviews, and sleepless nights. Life as I knew it had been irrevocably changed. But amidst the horror and disbelief, there was a glimmer of justice. Alice's disappearance wasn't forgotten, and Mr. Edwards would pay for his crimes.
I often think back to that fateful summer when I was twelve years old. It was a harsh introduction to the darker side of humanity, a loss of innocence that I can never reclaim. But it was also a testament to the truth, however gruesome it may be, and the strength it takes to bring it to light.
The image of Mr. Edwards filling that pit still haunts me. But I also remember the piece of Alice's dress in my hand, the flickering lights of the police cars, and the promise of justice. And I'm reminded that even in the face of unspeakable horror, we have the power to fight back, to expose the truth, and to ensure that no evil goes unpunished.
Because sometimes, the monsters are not under our bed or in our closets. They are walking among us, hidden behind the guise of normality. And it is up to us to unmask them.