At first, everything seemed completely normal. But as more neighbors arrived at our housewarming party, the evening quickly took an unexpected turn. All of them were wearing the same odd red gloves, hiding something we couldn’t quite understand.
Regina and I were overjoyed when we bought our dream home—an elegant Victorian house in a quiet neighborhood, full of charm and friendly people. We thought we’d found the perfect spot. Little did we know, our housewarming would open the door to a side of the community that still gives me chills.
“Gabby, can you bring the cheese platter from the kitchen?” Regina called out from the living room.
I happily made my way to the kitchen, excited about meeting all our new neighbors. “Coming, babe!” I responded, carefully carrying the platter back.
Regina gave me a radiant smile. “This is going to be perfect,” she said, squeezing my arm.
“I know,” I replied, grinning. “It’s hard to believe we finally have our own place, and in such a great neighborhood!”
The doorbell rang, and we shared an excited look before opening it to greet our first guests.
At first, everything seemed fine. The house was filled with lively conversations and laughter as our neighbors enjoyed wine and shared stories about the neighborhood.
“You’re going to love it here,” Mrs. Harper, our elderly neighbor, reassured us. “It’s such a close-knit community.”
“I can tell already,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “Everyone’s been so welcoming.”
“Oh, just wait,” Mrs. Harper replied with a wink. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
As the night wore on, I began to notice something odd. At first, it was subtle, but soon it became impossible to ignore: every guest was wearing red gloves.
I nudged Regina, whispering, “Hey, do you notice the gloves?”
She looked around the room, frowning. “Yeah, that’s strange. Maybe it’s some kind of local tradition?”
“But it’s the middle of summer,” I pointed out. “And they’re all the exact same shade of red.”
I tried to brush it off, but unease settled in my stomach. No one took off their gloves, not even when eating, drinking, or when it got warm inside. Some even seemed to hide their hands when we looked too closely.
Close-up of a woman at a party wearing a pair of red gloves | Source: AmoMama
Curiosity got the better of me, so I approached Mrs. Harper, who was nibbling on a canapé.
“Those are some interesting gloves, Mrs. Harper,” I said casually. “Are they part of a special occasion?”
She stiffened for a moment, her smile faltering before quickly returning. “Oh, these? Just a neighborhood tradition. You’ll get used to it.”
“A tradition?” I pressed. “What’s it about?”
Mrs. Harper glanced around, lowering her voice. “Well… it’s something we all agreed upon a long time ago. You’ll understand soon enough.”
“But why red?” I asked. “And why gloves specifically?”
Mrs. Harper’s eyes darted around the room. “Now, now, Gabriel. All in good time. Why don’t you go check on your other guests?”
Before I could ask more, she quickly scurried away, leaving me even more confused.
As the guests started leaving, Regina and I exchanged uneasy glances. Something felt off, but we couldn’t quite figure it out.
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” Regina called, waving to the last few guests.
We shut the door behind them, exhaling with a mix of relief and confusion. “Well, that was… something,” I muttered.
Regina nodded, her brow furrowed. “Did you notice how they avoided talking about the gloves when we asked?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “And Mrs. Harper changed the subject so quickly.”
“I did,” Regina said, biting her lip. “And did you notice that no one took their gloves off? Not even once?”
Close-up of a person at a party wearing a red glove | Source: AmoMama
We stayed up late that night, discussing the gloves and the cryptic comments we had heard. The next morning, as we were cleaning up, Regina found a small note slipped under our door. Her face turned pale as she read it aloud:
“Welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t forget your red gloves. You’ll need them soon.”
“Gabby, what does this mean?” she gasped.
I took the note and read it again. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to wonder if moving here was the right choice.”
“Should we call the police?” Regina suggested, wringing her hands.
I shook my head. “And tell them what? That our neighbors wear matching gloves and left us a strange note? They’d think we’re crazy.”
Over the next few days, our neighbors continued to suggest we get our own red gloves, which was starting to feel more and more unsettling.
One morning, while I was picking up the mail, Mrs. Harper approached me, her expression serious.
“Gabriel, dear,” she said, lowering her voice. “The gloves aren’t just a tradition. They protect you from the Hand of the Forgotten, a spirit that haunts this area. Everyone wears them to stay safe.”
I blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry, the Hand of the… what? A spirit?”
Mrs. Harper nodded, her face grave. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Don’t wait too long to get your gloves.”
I stared at her, trying to process what she had just said.
That evening, I told Regina about the conversation. We both laughed it off, dismissing it as some small-town superstition. But soon after, strange things started happening.
It began with little incidents: garden tools mysteriously moved, strange symbols scratched into the dirt around our house. Then came the whispers and footsteps outside our windows at night.
One morning, Regina called me into the backyard. “Gabby, look at this,” she said, her voice trembling.
I followed her gaze to a crude drawing of a hand with long fingers scratched into the dirt.
“Did you do this?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“No,” I replied, shaking my head slowly.
“Gabby, I’m scared,” Regina whispered, clutching my arm. “What if Mrs. Harper was right?”
I put my arm around her, trying to sound calm. “It’s probably just some kids playing pranks. Nothing to worry about.”
The final straw came when we found a small voodoo doll wearing red gloves on our front porch. Regina and I stared at it, chills running down our spines.
“That’s it,” I said firmly. “We need answers.”
We called for a neighborhood meeting and invited everyone over. As our living room filled with red-gloved neighbors, I took a deep breath and spoke up.
“Alright, what’s going on with the red gloves? We’ve found strange things around our house, and it’s starting to freak us out. Is this some kind of joke?”
To our surprise, the neighbors exchanged amused glances before laughing. Mrs. Harper stepped forward, still chuckling.
“Oh, Gabriel, Regina, you two were such good sports. I think it’s time we told you the truth.”
Mrs. Harper explained that the gloves, the spirit, and the eerie occurrences were all part of an elaborate neighborhood prank.
“Every new couple gets the same treatment,” she said, grinning. “It’s our way of welcoming you and seeing how you handle a little fun. And I must say, you two did splendidly!”
Regina and I were stunned, but as the truth sank in, we couldn’t help but laugh along with them.
“So all of this was just a prank?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. “The gloves, the whispers, the creepy symbols?”
Mrs. Harper nodded, still smiling. “Exactly! It’s a little test of your resolve, and you both passed with flying colors. Welcome to the neighborhood!”
A few weeks later, Regina and I invited all the neighbors over for a “thank you” dinner, letting them think it was just a casual gathering.
We had a plan. We bought realistic-looking fake bugs and hidden them around the house.
As the evening went on, our neighbors found the “surprises” we’d planted.
Mr. Richards jumped back from his seat, yelping, “What the—! There’s a spider in my napkin!”
Mrs. Harper laughed as she pulled a fake worm from her drink. “Oh, you two! You really got us good!”
“Payback’s a bug, isn’t it?” I quipped, earning laughs and groans from everyone.
The room erupted in laughter, and we all realized we had become a part of something fun and playful in our quirky new neighborhood.
“We learned from the best,” Regina said with a wink.
As the night wrapped up, Mrs. Harper smiled at us. “You two will fit in here just fine.”
I grinned back. “Glad to hear it. And don’t worry, we’re keeping our red gloves. Just in case!”
With that, we knew we had truly found our place in this community.
As the last guests left, Regina leaned into me, smiling.
“I think we’re going to be very happy here.”
A couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash
I kissed her on the top of her head, grinning. “I think you’re right. But next time we move, we’re asking about any neighborhood ‘traditions’ before we sign anything!”
We laughed, heading back inside, feeling at home in a place full of new friends and memories waiting to be made.
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