MARK LEFT HIS GARDEN SHOVEL OUT AND I FOUND A SMALL METAL BOX
I kicked the muddy garden shovel, frustrated he’d left it out again, and saw the loose brick right by the porch steps. Curiosity pulled at me, stronger than the annoyance, and I knelt down, pulling the brick free from the damp earth.
Beneath it was a small metal box. The **rough, aged texture** felt foreign under my fingers, coated in grime. It wasn’t heavy, but it felt significant, like something deliberately hidden, not forgotten. My hands trembled slightly as I pried the lid open, the cheap metal groaning slightly.
Inside were just two things: a single, unmarked key and a burner phone. The **cold weight of the metal** phone felt wrong, heavy with unspoken secrets. Why would he have this? Why hide it? I stood, clutching the box, my heart pounding hard against my ribs. When Mark came around the corner, I held it up. “What is this, Mark?” My voice shook, trying to stay steady, though fear was starting to snake into the anger.
He froze mid-step, his face draining instantly white. He stammered something about needing a backup, a project, anything but the truth visible in his terrified eyes. His hands started to shake as he reached for the box, his voice tight. “Give it to me. Now.” I flinched back. He wasn’t explaining; he was demanding. The phone suddenly buzzed in my hand.
The screen lit up with one new message saying, ‘He knows you found it.’
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The screen glowed, stark white against the dimming light of the afternoon, displaying the chilling message: ‘He knows you found it.’ My blood ran cold. I stared at the words, then back at Mark, whose face had gone from white to a greenish-grey. He wasn’t just scared; he was petrified.
“Who knows? Mark, who is this?” I whispered, clutching the phone like it was a live wire. He lunged then, faster than I thought he could move, his hand snatching towards the phone. I stumbled back, tripping over the very shovel that started this, landing hard on the damp grass. The box clattered beside me, the key falling out onto the mud.
He scrambled towards me, not caring about the key, his eyes locked on the phone still in my hand. “Give it to me! Don’t look at it! Don’t respond!” His voice was a desperate hiss, completely unlike his usual easy-going tone.
“Respond?” I shouted back, pushing myself up, mud staining my jeans. “It says ‘He knows’! It’s not a question! Who is ‘He’?”
Mark stopped, looking wildly around the garden as if expecting someone to appear from behind the shed. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a profound, terrifying despair. He sank to his knees in the mud, burying his face in his hands. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
“Mark, talk to me!” I knelt beside him, fear giving way to a desperate need for understanding. The key lay ignored between us, dull metal against the dark earth. The phone was still warm in my grip.
He finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and full of a misery I’d never seen. “It’s… it’s Victor,” he choked out. “I owe him money. A lot of money. I got into something stupid, thought I could make a quick win, and it went bad. He’s not… he’s not a good person. This phone…” he gestured weakly at the burner, “was how he contacted me. And the key… it’s for a locker. A locker with… leverage. Something he holds over me.”
“Leverage? What kind of leverage?” I pressed, the pieces starting to click into a horrifying picture. This wasn’t just debt; this was serious.
“It doesn’t matter,” he groaned, trying to stand but swaying. “What matters is that message. He knows you know. He watches the phone. He knows someone else found it. Now you’re… you’re involved.”
He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “He knows we’re here. We can’t stay. We have to go. Now.” He finally reached for the phone, gently this time, taking it from my numb fingers. He stared at the screen one last time, then tossed it into the muddy flowerbed. “It’s useless now. He already knows.”
The garden, moments ago a symbol of his simple carelessness, now felt exposed, vulnerable. The quiet street outside suddenly seemed menacing. The ‘He knows you found it’ message wasn’t just a warning; it was a declaration. We weren’t just uncovering a secret; we had stumbled into danger, and whoever ‘He’ was, he was already watching. Mark grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the back door, his earlier fear replaced by a chilling urgency that mirrored the panic now rising in my own chest. We left the box, the key, and the dead phone lying forgotten in the mud.