The Midnight Burial and the Missing Trowel

I couldn’t sleep tonight so I looked out the kitchen window and saw him digging under the old oak tree. Headlamp beam bouncing wildly, he shoved the shovel frantically into the dark earth. Dirt flew up onto the shared fence between our yards, tiny clods hitting the wood. I slipped out the back door without a sound, the damp grass chilling my bare feet instantly through the thin slippers I wore.

My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I crept closer to the edge of our deck, staying in the shadows of the porch light. The air smelled strongly of freshly turned earth mixed with something else, heavy and strangely sweet, I couldn’t place.

“What are you doing, Mike?” I called out softly across the yard, trying to keep my voice steady. He froze instantly, dropping the shovel with a loud, metallic clatter onto the ground beside the hole. The single light beam from his headlamp seemed too bright, too revealing, against the oppressive darkness around his quiet house.

He slowly turned around towards me, not saying a single word, his face pale and slick with sweat in the harsh light. His eyes were wide and darted away from mine. I could see his chest heaving rapidly under his work jacket, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Then I saw his right hand wasn’t holding the shovel anymore; it was holding my missing garden trowel.

👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”Mike?” I repeated, my voice a little louder now, laced with a hesitant worry. “Is everything alright?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Just… just burying some stuff,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

“At midnight?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And with my trowel?”

He looked down at the trowel in his hand as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, jeez, Sarah, I’m so sorry. I borrowed it a few days ago and completely spaced on returning it. It was just… convenient.” He managed a weak, apologetic smile.

“Convenient for what, Mike?” My eyes darted to the hole, now half-filled with loose dirt. “What are you burying?”

He hesitated for a long moment, chewing on his lip. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, okay. You caught me. Promise you won’t laugh?”

Curiosity and suspicion warred within me. “I can’t promise anything until I know what’s going on.”

He took a deep breath and walked towards me, closer to the edge of the yard. He held out the trowel. “Here,” he said. “Take it. And come see for yourself.”

Cautiously, I stepped off the deck and crossed the yard, the cool earth squishing between my toes. As I approached the hole, the strange, sweet smell became stronger. Mike stepped aside and shone the headlamp into the pit.

Nestled amongst the loose soil was a plastic container. Inside, several misshapen, lumpy objects were visible. They were…plants?

“They’re my prize-winning pumpkins,” Mike mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “I tried to get a head start on next year, germinating them indoors. I thought it was genius. But,” he gestured to the decaying seedlings, “they got some kind of blight. The smell was getting horrendous, and I didn’t want to throw them in the trash for the whole neighborhood to see. Figured burying them was the least humiliating way to deal with my failure.”

I stared at the pathetic remains of his horticultural ambitions, the tension draining from my body. A chuckle escaped my lips, then another, until I was laughing outright.

“Pumpkins, Mike?” I finally managed to say, wiping a tear from my eye. “You woke me up at midnight burying pumpkins?”

He looked sheepish. “Yeah, well… they were going to be *giant* pumpkins.”

I shook my head, still smiling. “Next time, just ask me. I’m a decent gardener, maybe I could have helped.”

He grinned, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. “Maybe I will. And again, I’m really sorry about the trowel and the middle-of-the-night shenanigans.”

“Just bring me back my trowel next time. And maybe a slice of pumpkin pie in the fall?” I winked.

“Deal,” he said. He began to fill the hole, his movements less frantic now, almost meditative. As I turned to head back inside, I couldn’t help but smile. Midnight pumpkin burials. Who knew? Maybe having a slightly eccentric neighbor wasn’t so bad after all.