I left for my vacation with a light heart. Behind me were months of exhaustion, emotional chaos, and a painful breakup that left me feeling like a shell of myself. I needed to escape — from the noise, the routine, and the memories. So I did. The coast offered peace: the sun, the sea, the smell of salt in the air, the kind of silence that wraps around you like a warm blanket. It felt like I was beginning to breathe again — as if my life was finally back on track.

But everything changed the moment I stepped into my backyard.

At first, nothing seemed unusual. The gate was locked, the windows untouched, the car parked just as I had left it. I allowed myself to relax. The trip had done me good. I was ready to face the world again.

Then I saw it.

Right in the middle of my lawn — a deep, freshly dug hole. Not just a hole. It was rectangular, neatly shaped, almost too perfect. It looked like… a grave.

A chill ran through me.

This wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a utility repair. It wasn’t someone mistaking my yard for a construction site. This was intentional. Someone had taken their time with this. Someone had planned it. For me.

I walked around the edge of the pit, trying to process what I was seeing. A shovel lay nearby. There were footprints — heavy, determined. Whoever did this had spent hours digging. And they wanted me to see it.

My hands trembled. My throat tightened. This wasn’t random. This was a message.

I rushed into the house, heart pounding, and immediately pulled up the footage from my security cameras. I have two — one at the front gate, the other facing the yard.

I started scrubbing through the footage, day by day. The first few days — nothing. Quiet. Empty. On the third night — a pair of headlights flashed past the house. Then, on the fourth night…

There he was.

A figure in black. Hood pulled up. No face visible. He climbed over the fence like he’d done it before. Calm, deliberate. He walked straight to the center of my yard, dropped the shovel, and began to dig.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t hesitate. He dug with eerie precision. He’d pause occasionally and look up — directly into the camera — like he wanted me to see him.

He worked all night. Before sunrise, he stopped, stood by the grave for a moment as if admiring it, picked up the shovel, and left. That was it. No note. No damage. Just… the grave.

I sat frozen in front of the screen.

This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t a mistake. Someone had gone out of their way to do this. Someone who knew me. Someone who wanted to frighten me — and succeeded.

I called the police, explaining it as “trespassing,” though the word felt absurdly small compared to what had happened. I called friends. An ex. I racked my brain — who could have done this? Had I angered someone? Was it someone from my past? Was it revenge?

As I paced through the house, still shaken, my phone buzzed.

One message. No sender. No name. Just five words:

“Now you know the edge.”

I stared at it. The words hit like a hammer to the chest. My legs buckled. My mind spiraled.

This wasn’t over. This was only the beginning.

The vacation was over.
And something far darker had just begun.