My entire body froze.
Slowly, I turned toward the street.
At first, I didn’t see anyone.
The neighborhood looked completely normal. The morning sun was rising. Birds were chirping. A few cars sat quietly in their driveways.
Then I noticed something.
Across the street.
Right where my son’s lemonade stand had been destroyed.
A figure was standing perfectly still.
Watching us.
My heart started racing.
The person wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t waving.
Wasn’t speaking.
Just staring.
I blinked several times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
The figure appeared to be a child.
A small child.
Wearing a yellow hoodie.
The exact same color as my son’s lemonade stand.
“What is that?” I whispered.
Carl’s breathing became uneven.
“You see it too.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“You know who that is?”
Carl shook his head immediately.
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
Too nervously.
As if he was hiding something.
The figure suddenly turned and walked away.
Not running.
Not rushing.
Just calmly disappearing between two houses.
The moment it vanished, Carl grabbed my arm.
Hard.
“You have to make him stop.”
I yanked my arm away.
“My son didn’t do anything.”
Carl looked horrified.
“I’m not talking about your son.”
The words hit me like ice water.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
My stomach dropped.
If he wasn’t talking about my son…
Then who was he talking about?
Carl looked around again before lowering his voice.
“Last night wasn’t the first time.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
His face lost all color.
“There have been others.”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“Others?”
Carl nodded.
“Three years ago I complained about a boy riding his bike in front of my house.”
He swallowed.
“The next morning I found every bicycle I had ever owned sitting on my lawn.”
I frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
His hands trembled.
“Then six months later I reported an elderly woman for feeding stray cats.”
He paused.
“The following day there were dozens of cats sitting outside my front door.”
A nervous laugh escaped me.
This sounded insane.
But Carl wasn’t laughing.
He looked genuinely terrified.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“You think I’m crazy?”
He opened a folder.
“There.”
My breath caught.
The photos showed exactly what he described.
Bicycles.
Cats.
Dozens of strange incidents spanning years.
Each image had something in common.
A handwritten message.
Short.
Simple.
And threatening.
One picture read:
BE KIND NEXT TIME.
Another read:
SOMEONE IS ALWAYS WATCHING.
Another simply said:
YOU WERE WARNED.
Panic surged through me.
Who would go through this much effort?
And why?
Before I could ask another question, a voice interrupted us.
“Dad?”
I spun around.
My son was standing in the doorway.
Still wearing his pajamas.
Holding something in his hands.
Something yellow.
My heart nearly stopped.
It was a brand-new lemonade stand sign.
The wood looked freshly painted.
The letters were perfect.
Far better than anything he could have made himself.
“Dad,” he said softly.
“This was on my bed when I woke up.”
Carl staggered backward.
His face became ghostly white.
“No…”
My son looked confused.
“What?”
Carl pointed toward the sign.
Shaking violently.
Then he whispered words that made a chill run down my spine.
“Turn it over.”
My son flipped the sign.
And the moment I saw what was written on the back, my blood ran cold.
There was a single sentence painted in bright red letters:
HE WAS WARNED. YOU’RE NEXT.
To be continued in C0mments 👇
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