I’ve always been a patient person. I got to practice my patience when my father remarried following my mom’s death. So, when my in-laws tried to get me to break up with my husband before we could get married, I just used what I had learned earlier in life to withstand their onslaught.
You know, sometimes trying to find your place in someone else’s family can be really tricky. At least, it was for me when I met my husband’s family. See, I’m originally from Morocco, while my husband, Jeremy, was raised by an extremely conservative family from Georgia. That should be enough to give you an idea of what I faced.
Man and woman on a date | Source: Getty Images
I immigrated to the US shortly after my mother passed away. I was 11 at the time, and it felt like my entire world was coming to an end. To add to this, my dad married a new woman only a little over a year after Mom’s death. Naturally, adjusting to life in a new country and coming to terms that there was a new woman in my mom’s place was jarring.
My stepmom wasn’t a bad person, but we never got along. I think she felt insecure about the fact that she could never have kids, so she would often be mean and distant toward my sister and me. She used to try to upset us all the time by doing petty things that she knew would make us uncomfortable, but luckily my mom had taught me to always smile when people were intentionally being mean to me.
A young girl in an airplane | Source: Getty Images
This turned out to be a great defense mechanism, and my stepmom couldn’t bear that her tricks weren’t working on me. Eventually, things died down and we made our peace, but I would never forget how effective it was to just smile through whatever petty new ploy she had devised to try and upset me. It truly was one of the greatest gifts my mom had ever given me.
But my stepmom was a minor hindrance compared to Jeremy’s family. When I met them for the first time, I knew I was in for a lengthy cold war.
A woman yelling at a young girl | Source: Getty Images
I met Leona, Jeremy’s mom, and the rest of the Fergus family at one of their family dinners. By that time, I had been dating Jeremy for almost a year, and they had used every excuse to avoid inviting me to their dinners. This time, Jeremy ensured that they couldn’t weasel out of meeting me, and he even told his mom to prepare a few dishes that I could eat, since I steer clear of any pork and alcohol.
While my loving boyfriend was sure there would be something for me, I knew better than to just blindly trust people who clearly had misgivings about me to respect my personal choices, so I ate as I would before a fast and prepared myself for sitting around the dinner table while everyone enjoyed their meal.
A large dinner table with people sitting around it | Source: Getty Images
When we showed up at Jeremy’s parents’ house, the family greeted me with half-hearted smiles and quick hugs before we all settled down to eat. I knew the greetings would be awkward and stiff, but what I didn’t anticipate was Leona bringing a peppy blonde woman up to me with a huge smile and saying, “Oh, Aleah, you just have to meet Diane, Jeremy’s last girlfriend. We’re all still very close and I thought you two might hit it off.”
Diane looked slightly embarrassed, and shook my hand with a smile that seemed to say, “I’m sorry, I know, but what could I do?” I introduced myself and we exchanged a few pleasantries before she greeted Jeremy with a huge hug. She immediately launched into a conversation with him about what was going on in his life, ignoring me completely. Jeremy answered a few questions, grabbed my hand, and steered me to our seats.
A woman shaking another woman’s hand | Source: Getty Images
At the table, things just got worse. Leona opened all the dishes, and every single thing had pork in it. The mac and cheese had bacon bits in, the mashed potatoes had lard in, and even the turkey was wrapped in bacon. After unveiling all the food, Jeremy’s mom looked at me, apologized for all the pork, and offered me a drink. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly take a glass of water,” I said with a smile. Slightly crestfallen, Leona got up to get me one.
During the meal, the entire family kept making off-handed, passive-aggressive, and slightly racist comments clearly directed toward me. Meanwhile, Diane was showered with compliments. You’d expect she was royalty with how the family sucked up to her. But I knew exactly how to handle the situation.
A woman enjoying a glass of water | Source: Getty Images
Instead of letting my annoyance show, I once again employed my mom’s wisdom. I smiled at every so-called joke, and even threw a few of my own compliments at Diane. I told Leona how lovely the spread looked, and thanked her profusely when she went to refill my cup of water. I could see Jeremy’s mom seething at my pleasant demeanor.
The night ended and we said our goodbyes. I refrained from complaining to Jeremy about his family. I could handle it. But things didn’t get better from there. Family dinners were suddenly off-limits to anyone who wasn’t also a Fergus — although Diane was apparently an exception — so I would often spend Christmas on my own or with my sister. They never drove a wedge between myself and Jeremy, and imagine their shock when he eventually proposed.
Two sisters celebrating Christmas together | Source: Getty Images
Now, Leona and the rest of the family never bothered to learn anything about my culture. They assumed the wedding would be a regular ceremony, but Jeremy and I had planned on blending traditions. So when all the women, Diane included, showed up wearing white, I was all smiles, complimenting their outfits all the way. This didn’t go down well.
Meanwhile, my outfits were made up of every color imaginable, and I outshone them in every photo. There’s even one picture of Leona with the biggest sour expression I had ever seen. It was a wonderful day.
A traditional wedding dress | Source: Getty Images
But the unspoken feud came to a head last Christmas when Leona suggested I host. Naturally, I accepted, even though I knew she only offered because she hoped I would be overwhelmed. Fortunately, she didn’t count on the fact that I often cooked, and had been since I was a young girl. So my spread was something to marvel at.
Mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, turkey, glazed ham, Brussels sprouts, green bean casserole, roasted carrots, and potatoes, freshly baked bread, corn bread, and an entire assortment of pies. Even I was impressed. But of course, with her plan in ruins, Leona did the next best thing. She started shouting at me.
A big dinner | Source: Getty Images
“You’ve got to be kidding me! How could you of all people have managed this?! I know you hired a catering company, Aleah! Just to make me look bad. Admit it!”
Surprised at her outright anger, I looked at her, then at Jeremy. Luckily he stepped in.
“Mom, Aleah slaved away for two days to make sure we had a great Christmas dinner. I don’t think you acting like this is very mature or fair. She has been nothing but a good host, and you accuse her of being petty, like a child who had hoped to one-up someone. I think you owe her an apology, or you should leave.”
There was a long pause. Everyone wondered what would happen next, plates in hand.
A woman cooking dinner | Source: Getty Images
Leona took a deep breath and looked at me. “You won,” she muttered and sat down dejectedly. Before Jeremy could say another word, I walked over to my mother-in-law, got on my knees before her, and took her hands in mine. “Leona, this isn’t a competition. I love your son deeply and I don’t want this cold war between us.”
She looked at me with new-found respect, and I could see the hatchet was buried. The war between us ended with a big hug and a great dinner, and although we still differ about things, we have grown quite fond of each other over the last few months.
The House Was So Cheap I Thought I Won the Lottery, but When I Saw the Basement, I Understood Everything — Story of the Day
was tired of paying rent my whole life and was ready to fulfill my dream of buying my own house. A dream home at an unbeatable price seemed like the ultimate win—until I realized there were reasons for the low price hidden in the basement.
The first time I saw the house, I could hardly believe my luck.
It was like something from a postcard—a charming colonial with white siding and green shutters, tucked away at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street.
Sure, the paint was peeling a little, and the roof could use some work, but it had character. A lived-in charm that felt… welcoming. Almost.
Susan, the real estate agent, was waiting by the front door, her grin as bright as the clipboard of documents she waved in the air.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Perfect day to finalize your dream home, huh?” she said, her tone so chipper it made me wonder if she was trying a little too hard.
I nodded, eager to see inside. The house didn’t disappoint. Room by room, it seemed to reveal more reasons for me to fall in love.
The living room had a fireplace that practically begged for stockings at Christmas, and the hardwood floors creaked just enough to remind you they had a history.
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Susan trailed behind me, her heels clicking against the floor as she narrated.
“You won’t find a deal like this anywhere else,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“A home like this at this price? Practically unheard of.”
She was right, and I knew it. Still, something felt off—just a whisper of doubt at the back of my mind. It grew louder when we reached the basement door.
Unlike the others, this one had a lock. Not a simple latch, but a solid, heavy-duty lock that didn’t belong in a cozy house like this.
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“What’s down there?” I asked, pointing at the door.
Susan’s smile faltered, just for a second. She quickly recovered, but the hesitation had been enough.
“Oh, the basement,” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss it. “Just your standard storage space. I… uh… misplaced the key. I’ll have it sent over later.”
Her voice wavered, and the way she avoided my gaze made my stomach twist. But I told myself I was overthinking it.
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After all, this was my dream house, right? A place where I could start afresh.
I signed the papers, and Susan left in a hurry, her heels clicking faster than before.
By the time I started unloading boxes from my car, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the street.
That’s when I noticed her—an older woman standing on the porch of the house next door.
Her face was a map of deep wrinkles, and her thin lips curled into a tight, disapproving line, like she’d just bitten into a lemon.
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“Hi there!” I called, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m your new neighbor.”
She didn’t answer. She just stared, her eyes narrowing before she turned and disappeared inside her house without a word.
The screen door slammed shut behind her.
I shrugged, telling myself she was probably just one of those grumpy types. Still, her silence gnawed at me.
I spent the rest of the day unpacking, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that lingered.
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By the time I collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into a restless sleep, the house settling around me like it was testing me, deciding if I belonged.
I woke to a sound that pulled me from the depths of sleep, a sound I couldn’t quite place.
At first, I thought it might’ve been the wind rattling the old windows, but then it came again—soft and eerie, like a child’s giggle.
My heart started pounding, loud and insistent, and I lay still for a moment, straining to hear more. Was I dreaming?
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The giggle came again, clearer this time. High-pitched, carefree, and completely out of place in the stillness of the night.
My throat tightened as fear prickled down my spine. I sat up, scanning the darkened room.
Shadows stretched across the walls, and the only sound was the ticking of the old clock above the mantel. But the giggle was real. I knew it.
Swallowing my nerves, I grabbed the closest thing I could find—a mop leaning against the corner of the room.
My palms were already sweaty, and the handle felt slippery as I gripped it tightly.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I crept through the house, the hardwood floors creaking beneath my feet. My breathing was shallow, and every step made my chest tighten further.
The sound grew louder as I approached the basement door. The lock on it glinted faintly in the dim light. I stopped, staring at the door as if it might move on its own.
My stomach churned as I raised the mop, holding it like a weapon. “Who’s there?” I called out, my voice shaking.
Silence. For a moment, I thought maybe the sound had been in my head.
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Then it came again—a giggle, followed by a soft, whispering hush that sent goosebumps racing up my arms.
I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. Instead, I backed away, grabbing my phone and dialing 911 with trembling fingers.
The dispatcher’s calm voice tried to soothe me, but all I could do was stammer about the noises.
Twenty minutes felt like an eternity before the flashing red and blue lights finally appeared outside.
A single officer stepped out, his posture relaxed, his face unimpressed. “So, what’s going on here?” he asked, tilting his head toward me.
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“There’s someone in the basement,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I heard laughing.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Laughing, huh?” With a sigh, he fetched a crowbar from his car and approached the door.
The sound of the lock snapping open echoed in the quiet house. I held my breath as he disappeared down the stairs, his flashlight casting strange, flickering shadows.
Minutes later, he reappeared, shaking his head.
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“Just cobwebs and dust,” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Nothing down there.”
“But I heard it!” I protested, heat rising to my face.
He smirked, shrugging.
“You’re not the first. Last few owners said the same thing. If you’re scared, maybe this isn’t the house for you.”
I clenched my fists, my frustration bubbling. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.”
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“Suit yourself, and good luck with the haunted house.” He left laughing, leaving me standing in the hallway, mop in hand, seething as the sound of his cruiser faded into the night.
The next morning, my phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the quiet stillness of the house.
I picked it up and glanced at the screen. A number I didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Margaret,” a thin, raspy voice said on the other end.
“The previous owner. Just checking in to see how you’re settling in.”
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Her voice immediately put me on edge, like she already knew something I didn’t. I hesitated before replying.
“The house is lovely,” I said cautiously. “But… something strange happened last night.”
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing, soft and uneven. Then she sighed—a long, heavy sound that made my stomach drop.
“You’re not the first, Clara” she admitted finally.
“There’s… a history with that house. Some say it’s haunted. I’ve tried to fix it, but nothing ever helps.”
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Haunted? The word hung in the air like a fog. My fingers tightened around the phone. “What kind of history?” I asked, my voice firmer than I felt.
She dodged the question.
“If you want out, I’m willing to buy it back,” she said quickly, her tone almost desperate. “Not the full price, but close enough.”
Her offer was tempting. I wouldn’t have to deal with the creepy noises or the weird basement.
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But the thought of giving up made my pride bristle. I’d worked hard for this house. I wasn’t about to walk away.
“No,” I said firmly. “I’ll figure this out.”
After we hung up, I grabbed a flashlight and headed for the basement. The air was cool and damp, carrying the stale smell of mildew.
I swept the beam of light across the basement. Dusty shelves, old pipes, and cobwebs filled my view.
Then I noticed something strange—scuff marks on the floor near the vent. Faint but deliberate, like something had been moved. My pulse quickened. Something wasn’t adding up.
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That night, I lay in bed, the blankets pulled tightly around me, every muscle tense. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, listening to the silence.
It wasn’t peaceful, though. It felt like the house was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Then, it came. The giggle. That same eerie, childlike sound that sent chills racing down my spine.
I sat up, heart pounding, but this time, it wasn’t just laughter. A faint hissing followed, like air escaping a tire.
My chest tightened as I slipped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs, each step creaking louder than I wanted.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
When I reached the basement door, I froze. A pale mist was creeping out from underneath, curling like ghostly fingers into the hallway.
My breath caught, and I fumbled for my phone, quickly dialing 911.
It wasn’t long before the now-familiar police cruiser pulled up. The same officer stepped out, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief.
“Again?” he said, shaking his head as he approached.
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Before I could respond, another car pulled into the driveway. Margaret stepped out, her face pale and drawn, her movements nervous.
“I heard what’s happening,” she said, avoiding my gaze.
“Let’s all go down together,” I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady. The officer sighed but nodded, his flashlight already in hand.
Margaret hesitated, but with a glance at me, she reluctantly agreed.
The basement was just as empty as before—dusty shelves, cobwebs, and shadows.
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“See? Nothing,” the officer said, his frustration obvious. “You sure you’re not imagining things?”
I wasn’t backing down. “I set up a camera,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s check the footage.”
I pressed play. The video showed Margaret sneaking into the basement.
She unlocked the door, placed a small speaker near the vent, and set up a fog machine before quickly leaving.
The officer’s jaw tightened. “Well, well,” he muttered. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a case.”
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Margaret’s face flushed red. “I… I was just trying to get the house back!” she stammered. “I didn’t mean any harm!”
The officer snapped handcuffs onto her wrists. “You can explain that to the judge.”
As they led her away, I stood in the doorway of my house, breathing deeply. For the first time, I felt like it was truly mine. I had fought for it, and I had won.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: It was a tough life for Molly. Her main concern was her son, Tommy. The constant changing of schools and towns wasn’t good for him. He started bullying other kids and starting fights. She never imagined that one call to the principal’s office would restore a part of her life she thought was lost.
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