I never imagined that one visit from my mother-in-law would turn into a nightmare for our family. Just a regular week, nothing special—or so I thought. But after she left, everything changed. Even our dog, always calm and loyal, started acting like he had gone mad. And when I finally decided to dig in the spot he kept barking at, I came face to face with something that I can only describe as pure horror…

My husband and I live in a quiet village. Peaceful life: he works on a farm, and I take care of the house, the garden, and our five-year-old daughter. We also have a dog, Baks, the sweetest, smartest boy we’ve ever known. Everything was normal—until the phone rang.

It was my mother-in-law. She said she was “tired of the city” and wanted to “get away for a week.” Something in her tone didn’t sit right with me. Our relationship had always been rocky. Since the day we got married, she never accepted me. Always judging, criticizing, correcting. But I kept quiet—for my husband’s sake.

She arrived with a suitcase and a look of triumph on her face. Within minutes, she was pointing out everything that was wrong: the curtains weren’t ironed, the soup was too salty, I was raising our daughter all wrong. My husband brushed it off, saying she just “worried too much.” But the tension grew thicker every day. She even tried to turn my husband against me—and almost succeeded.

I cried that night, silently, not wanting to wake anyone. I just wanted her to leave.

When she finally did, I felt a wave of relief. But the next day, something strange happened.

Our dog, Baks, started behaving unusually. He growled at the garden like there was an intruder, ran in circles, then began to scratch and dig violently at a specific spot near one of the garden beds. I tried to pull him away—he refused. He just stared at me and kept digging.

The next day, same behavior—only more intense. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed a shovel. My heart was pounding. I didn’t believe he was just reacting to some small animal. Something was wrong. I started to dig.

Suddenly the ground collapsed a little. I froze. There, half-buried in the soil, was a black plastic bag.

My hands trembled. I pulled it out slowly. It was tightly sealed. Baks was growling louder now, his eyes fixed on the bag. I knelt down and cut it open with a knife.

Inside were old dolls. Torn, dirty, with their eyes gouged out. Their fabric bodies were marked with strange symbols. And at the bottom—a piece of a photograph. Burned around the edges. It showed me, my husband, and our daughter. But our faces were violently scratched out.

I couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t a joke. This was evil.

I burned everything. I stood by the fire, watching the plastic heads melt, the cursed symbols turn to ash, the photo curl and disappear. Then I called a friend—someone who knows about these things.

She didn’t hesitate: “That’s a curse. Someone really wants to destroy your family. Really badly.”

We thought about who had access to our home. Who could have placed it there. The answer was clear.

My mother-in-law.

After I burned everything, Baks calmed down. He stopped barking, stopped digging. The air in the house felt different—lighter. Like we had cleared something rotten, something malevolent.

I told my husband everything. He was silent for a long time. Then finally said, “I don’t want to talk about this. But you did the right thing.”

We haven’t heard from his mother since. No calls, no visits. It’s like she disappeared from our lives. I still don’t know what pushed her to do something like that. Jealousy? Control? The desire to break us apart?

But I’ve learned one thing for sure: sometimes evil hides behind the kindest smiles and the closest people.