Shadows in the Seaside Cottage
In a little coastal village where the salty breeze wandered through narrow lanes, Margaret spent the evening at her mother-in-law’s. Waves crashed outside while the smell of freshly made beef stew filled the house. Late at night, the silence was shattered by a phone call. Margaret glanced at the screen—her neighbor, Alice, was calling.
“Meg, come home now!” Alice’s voice trembled with urgency. “Someone just pulled up to your place! A car drove right into your driveway, and people went inside!”
“What?!” Margaret gasped, her heart pounding. “What kind of car?”
“A big black SUV! Two people—a man and a woman. She’s blonde, he’s got a moustache,” Alice blurted out.
Without wasting a second, Margaret called a cab. An hour later, she was sliding her key into the front door, dread tightening her chest. She pushed it open slowly, stepped inside, and froze—she couldn’t believe her eyes.
—
“Daniel,” Margaret called her son, her voice shaking with anger. “Are you seriously sneaking people into my house behind my back? What do you mean *no*? Then who’s been traipsing around here when I’m gone? You’ve got a key!”
“Mum, what are you on about?” Daniel sounded baffled. “I haven’t been over in ages—I’ve been working nonstop! What’s happened?”
Margaret listed the oddities—things moved, food missing from the fridge.
“I *know* where everything goes!” she fumed. “I come back from Gran’s, and the place is turned upside down!”
—
Margaret had lived alone for three years. Her husband, Geoffrey, spent most of his time working abroad, saving for their retirement. She didn’t complain—they’d let the garden go, didn’t keep chickens anymore, figuring they’d return to that life later.
Lately, she’d been splitting her time between her cottage and the countryside, where her mother-in-law, Edith, lived. At eighty-seven, Edith often fell ill, so Margaret stayed over half the month to help.
The strangeness started recently. Once, coming back from Edith’s, she noticed unfamiliar towels in the bathroom—bright pink instead of her neatly folded pale blue ones. Tins of baked beans had vanished from the fridge, though she hadn’t touched them. The bedspread in the bedroom was rumpled, as if someone had slept there.
At first, she thought she was imagining things. Maybe she’d mixed it up? Maybe those tins were never there, or she’d hung the towels herself? But the signs were too blatant. Nothing valuable was missing—no money, no jewellery, no electronics. The locks were fine, the windows unbroken.
She blamed fatigue, but soon it happened again. The towels changed once more, and more groceries disappeared. Deciding not to guess, she took photos before leaving for Edith’s next time. When she returned a week later, she compared them—no doubt remained: someone had been living in her house.
Margaret rushed to Alice. Her neighbor frowned after hearing her out.
“Haven’t seen a soul, Meg. Your fence is too high to peek over. What’s going on?”
“Things aren’t where I left them!” Margaret said. “Towels switch, food vanishes. I don’t know what to think!”
“Listen,” Alice mused, “could it be Daniel? He’s got a key. Maybe he’s bringing someone round?”
Margaret considered it. Her son and his wife, Claire, were happy—but what if he *was* letting people in? To clear her conscience, she called him.
“Mum, are you serious?” Daniel sounded offended. “What ‘other woman’? I’m at work day and night—ask Claire! If you don’t believe me, let’s get an alarm system. Open the door without disarming it? Police show up in minutes.”
“An alarm?” Margaret scoffed. “This isn’t a bank! All I’ve lost is a few tins of beans. Alright, love, I’ll think about it. Sorry for doubting you.”
After hanging up, she rang Geoffrey. He laughed when she explained.
“Meg, you always get in a muddle! Remember when you mixed up the time for our wedding and nearly missed it? Same thing now—you’ve forgotten where you put stuff.”
She relaxed a little. True, she’d nearly botched their wedding, confusing the timings. But the photos? They didn’t lie!
—
Before her next trip to Edith’s, Claire called.
“Margaret, how are you?”
“Just packing groceries,” Margaret replied. “Off to Mother-in-law’s tomorrow—pharmacy run, bags to pack. Swamped!”
“How long will you be gone?” Claire asked.
“Two weeks, same as usual. What about you?”
“Oh, nothing much—fed the kids, about to iron some laundry. Ring me before you come back, yeah? Want to bring the grandchildren by—don’t want to miss you.”
Margaret agreed, but a flicker of suspicion sparked in her gut.
Before leaving, she asked Alice, “Keep an eye on the house, would you? If you spot anything odd—lights on at night, a strange car—call me straight away. I’ll get a cab back.”
“Got it,” Alice nodded.
—
Three days later, deep in the night, Alice called.
“Meg, get here! Someone just pulled up to yours! Black SUV in the drive, two people went in—a woman and a moustached man.”
Margaret’s blood ran cold. Only one man in her circle had a moustache—Claire’s father, Henry. And the blonde sounded exactly like her mum, Patricia.
She hailed a cab and, an hour later, was unlocking her gate. The SUV in the drive was unmistakable—she knew the number plate. Peering through the kitchen window, she saw Patricia setting the table with food from *her* fridge while Henry uncorked wine from *her* cellar.
Quietly, Margaret stepped inside, slipped off her shoes, and walked into the kitchen.
“Evening, lovely guests,” she said sweetly. “Bit late for a visit, isn’t it? And uninvited?”
Henry and Patricia startled.
“Meg, you’re meant to be at Edith’s!” Henry choked out.
“Oh, so you’ve got my schedule memorised?” she said coldly. “Explain yourselves.”
“Come on,” Henry said placatingly. “Just wanted a quiet getaway. What’s the harm?”
“You couldn’t *ask*?” Margaret’s voice shook. “Who said you could treat my home like a B&B?”
“We’re family,” Patricia cut in. “Must we beg permission every time?”
“So this *isn’t* your first time?” Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Where’d you get the key?”
They stayed silent, clearly reluctant to reveal their source.
“I’m calling the police,” Margaret threatened.
“Claire gave it to us,” Henry admitted grudgingly.
Margaret immediately dialled her daughter-in-law. Claire answered, groggy.
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?”
“Your parents are in my house!” Margaret snapped. “Care to explain?”
“I’m so sorry,” Claire stammered. “I—I lent them the key…”
“Claire, I’d *never* expect this from you!” Margaret’s voice cracked. “I’ve been going spare, thinking someone was breaking in! Was it too much to *ask*?”
“I didn’t think—it’s all so silly now,” Claire mumbled.
Margaret didn’t make a scene. She let them stay the night, but by morning, they’d left. She called a locksmith, changed the locks, and kept the new keys to herself—Daniel wouldn’t get a set this time.
Now, leaving for Edith’s, Margaret no longer worried about her cottage. But the bitterness lingered. How could family do this? She’d learned the hard way: even blood isn’t always trustworthy.
