Linda was cleaning out the attic when she found the old Nokia phone. The kind with physical buttons and a screen the size of a postage stamp. It had belonged to her late husband, Mark, who passed away ten years ago.
The phone was dead, of course. But something nudged her—curiosity or maybe that sixth sense you only start to trust in your forties. She dug through the junk drawer, found an ancient charger, and plugged it in.
The screen blinked.
One missed call.
One new voicemail.
Dated April 13, 2015—the day he died.
With a trembling hand, she pressed play.
“Linda… if you’re hearing this, I know you’ve found the phone. I couldn’t tell you everything while I was alive. But look under the floorboards in the garden shed. What you’ll find… it’s not just about me. It’s about us. About why we moved to this town. Be careful. And don’t trust anyone—not even the man next door. I love you.”
Her heart raced. Mark was always calm, grounded. Not the type for drama.
The shed had been locked for years.
As the sun dipped below the trees, Linda stood by the shed with a flashlight and a crowbar. She pulled up the floorboards. Her breath caught—
There was a rusted lockbox. Inside it: photos, military IDs with different names, a keycard marked “U.S. Department of Defense – Level 5 Clearance”, and a sealed envelope with her name.
Suddenly, she heard a twig snap behind her.
She turned.
It was Mr. Ellis—the neighbor.
Smiling.
But not the friendly smile she knew.
“Looks like Mark told you everything,” he said, stepping closer.
