You know those perfect Saturday mornings where everything feels just right? This wasn’t one of them.
I stepped into the backyard expecting to hear Benedict mowing the lawn. Instead—silence. I found him by the fence, staring blankly at something. When I followed his gaze, I saw our new neighbor, Angela, in her garden… burying a large tarp-covered object.
“Are you seeing this?” I asked, heart pounding.
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s garden stuff?”
“In a tarp?” I panicked. “We’re calling the police.”
As soon as Angela noticed us watching, she started frantically covering the object with dirt. Moments later, sirens blared, and officers surrounded her yard. They dug up the tarp, revealing a human-shaped form.
I nearly fainted—until they pulled it open.
It was a mannequin. A hyper-realistic sculpture.
Angela, flustered but honest, explained she was an artist with nowhere to store her work. The police verified her story and left.
Embarrassed, I apologized. Angela laughed it off. “It did look suspicious,” she said. We shook hands, agreeing to be better neighbors.
As Benedict finally started mowing, our son peeked out and asked, “Mom, are you in trouble with the police?”
“No, honey,” I smiled. “How about pancakes?”
Life in the suburbs—never a dull moment.
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