The first knock on the door seemed innocent enough. But as more neighbors arrived at our housewarming party, the night took a sinister turn. They were all wearing the same unsettling red gloves, hiding something in plain sight.
You know that feeling when everything seems perfect? That’s how Regina and I felt when we bought our dream house—a beautiful Victorian villa in a quaint neighborhood with tree-lined streets and friendly faces. We were over the moon, thinking we’d hit the jackpot. Little did we know, our housewarming party would reveal a dark side to this picturesque community that still gives me chills to this day…
A beautiful Victorian villa | Source: AmoMama
“Gabby, honey, can you grab the cheese platter from the kitchen?” Regina called from the living room.
I headed to the kitchen, my excitement building as I thought about meeting all our new neighbors at the housewarming party. “Coming, babe!” I replied, balancing the heavy platter as I made my way back.
Regina beamed at me, her eyes sparkling. “This is going to be perfect,” she whispered, squeezing my arm.
“I know,” I said, grinning back. “I can’t believe we finally have our own place. And in such a great neighborhood too!”
Silhouette of a couple talking | Source: Pexels
The doorbell rang, and we exchanged giddy glances before opening it to welcome our first guests.
At first, everything was going smoothly. Our house buzzed with laughter and conversation as neighbors mingled, sipping wine and sharing stories about the area.
“You’re going to love it here,” Mrs. Harper, our elderly next-door neighbor, assured us. “It’s such a close-knit community.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. “We already do. Everyone’s been so welcoming.”
“Oh, just wait,” Mrs. Harper said with a wink. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
An older lady smiling | Source: Pexels
As the night wore on, I started noticing something odd. It was subtle at first but soon became impossible to ignore. Every single guest was wearing red gloves.
I nudged Regina, whispering, “Hey, what’s with all the gloves?”
She frowned, scanning the room. “Huh. That’s weird. Maybe it’s some local thing?”
“But it’s the middle of summer,” I pointed out. “And they’re all the exact same shade of red.”
Close-up of a woman at a party wearing a pair of red gloves | Source: AmoMama
I shrugged it off, but couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. Nobody took their gloves off, not even to eat, drink, or even when it got warm inside. Some even seemed to hide their hands when we looked too closely.
Curiosity got the better of me. I approached Mrs. Harper, who was nibbling on a canapé.
“Those are some interesting gloves, Mrs. Harper,” I said casually. “Are they for a special occasion?”
A shocked man’s eyes | Source: AmoMama
She stiffened, her smile faltering for a split second before regaining its warmth. “Oh, these? They’re just… a neighborhood tradition. You’ll get used to it.”
“A tradition?” I pressed. “What’s it about?”
Mrs. Harper glanced around nervously, lowering her voice. “Well… let’s just say it’s something we all agreed upon a long time ago. You’ll understand soon enough.”
“But why red?” I persisted. “And why gloves specifically?”
A confused man | Source: Freepik
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 scurried away, leaving me even more confused.
As guests began to leave, Regina and I exchanged worried looks. Something felt off, but we couldn’t put our finger on it.
An anxious woman sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” Regina called, waving goodbye to the last few stragglers.
We shut the door, exhaling heavily. “Well, that was… interesting,” I muttered.
Regina nodded, her brow furrowed. “Did you notice how they all avoided talking about the gloves when we asked?”
“Yeah, it was weird. And did you see how quickly Mrs. Harper changed the subject?”
“I did,” Regina said, biting her lip. “And did you notice that no one took them 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 theories about the gloves and the cryptic comments we’d heard. The next morning, as we cleaned up, Regina found a small note slipped under our door. Her face paled 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, reading it over and over. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to wonder if moving here was the right choice.”
A piece of paper on the floor | Source: Pexels
“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 cryptic note? They’d laugh us out of town.”
As days passed, our neighbors continued to subtly encourage us to get our own red gloves. It was unsettling, to say the least.
A worried man holding his head | Source: Freepik
One morning, while I was grabbing the mail, Mrs. Harper approached me, her eyes serious.
“Gabriel, dear,” she began, her voice low. “The gloves aren’t just a tradition. They protect you from the Hand of the Forgotten, the spirit that haunts this land. Everyone wears them to stay safe.”
I blinked, taken aback. “I’m sorry, hand of the… what? A spirit?”
Mrs. Harper nodded gravely. “You’ll see soon enough. Don’t wait too long to get your gloves.”
Close-up shot of an older lady smiling | Source: Pexels
“Mrs. Harper, this is ridiculous. There’s no such thing as—”
“Hush, boy,” she interrupted. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Ignore this at your own peril.”
As she hobbled away, I stood frozen, trying to process what I’d just heard.
That evening, I recounted the conversation to Regina. We both laughed it off, chalking it up to small-town superstition. But over the next few days, strange things started happening.
A couple sitting on the couch and laughing | Source: Freepik
It began with small incidents: garden tools mysteriously moved, odd symbols scratched into the dirt around our property. Then came the whispers and footsteps outside our windows at night.
One morning, Regina called me into the backyard, her voice shaky. “Gabby, look at this.”
I followed her gaze to a crude drawing of a hand with long, spindly fingers in the dirt.
“Did you do this?” she asked, her eyes wide.
I shook my head slowly. “No… I thought maybe you did.”
Grayscale portrait of a shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“Gabby, I’m scared,” Regina whispered, clutching my arm. “What if Mrs. Harper was right?”
I put my arm around her, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’s probably just some kids playing pranks. Nothing to worry about.”
The final straw came when we found a small, red-gloved voodoo doll lying on our front porch. Regina and I stared at it, a chill running down our spines.
“That’s it,” I said firmly. “We need answers.”
A creepy doll wearing red gloves | Source: AmoMama
We called for a neighborhood meeting, inviting everyone over. As our living room filled with red-gloved neighbors, I took a deep breath and spoke up.
“Alright, what’s the deal with the red gloves? We’ve been finding weird things around our house, and it’s freaking us out. Is this some kind of joke?”
To our surprise, our neighbors exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter. Mrs. Harper stepped forward, still chuckling.
A frustrated man holding his head | Source: Freepik
“Oh, Gabriel, Regina, you two were such good sports. I think it’s time we told you the truth.”
Mrs. Harper explained that the whole thing: the gloves, the “Hand of the Forgotten,” and the creepy 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 both did splendidly!”
A cheerful older lady in stylish clothes | Source: Pexels
Regina and I were stunned. As realization 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 two passed with flying colors. Welcome to the neighborhood, officially!”
“But why go to such extremes?” Regina asked, still looking a bit shaken.
A stunned woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels
Mr. Richards, another neighbor, chimed in. “It’s become a bit of a competition over the years. Each time a new couple moves in, we try to outdo the last prank.”
“And you two,” Mrs. Harper added, “have been our most entertaining victims yet!”
A few weeks later, Regina and I decided it was time for some playful revenge. We invited all the neighbors over for a “thank you” dinner, letting them believe it was just a casual get-together.
Little did they know, we had a plan. We’d bought a bunch of realistic-looking fake bugs and hidden them strategically around the house.
