Shadows in the Seaside Cottage
In a quaint coastal village where the salty breeze rustled through narrow lanes, Evelyn spent the evening at her mother-in-law’s cottage. Sea waves murmured outside, while the scent of freshly made shepherd’s pie filled the air. Late into the night, the silence shattered with a ringing phone. Evelyn glanced at the screen—her neighbour, Margaret, was calling.
“Evie, come quick!” Margaret’s voice trembled. “Someone’s just pulled up to your house! A car rolled into the drive, and they walked right in!”
“What?!” Evelyn gasped, her heart pounding. “What sort of car?”
“A big black SUV! Two of them—a man and a woman. She’s blonde, he’s got a moustache,” Margaret blurted.
Without wasting a moment, Evelyn hailed a cab. An hour later, she slid her key into the lock of her cottage, unease tightening her chest. Pushing the door open cautiously, she stepped inside—and froze, disbelieving.
—
“William,” Evelyn dialled her son, her voice sharp with anger. “Are you sneaking people into my house behind my back? What do you mean, no? Then who’s been prowling around when I’m gone? You’ve got keys!”
“Mum, what are you on about?” William sounded baffled. “I haven’t been round in ages—I’m swamped at work! What’s happened?”
Evelyn listed the oddities: misplaced belongings, groceries vanishing from the fridge.
“I know where everything goes!” she fumed. “I come back from Gran’s, and it’s all turned upside down!”
—
Evelyn Parker had lived alone for three years. Her husband, Edward, spent most of his time away, working for their comfortable retirement. Evelyn didn’t complain—they’d given up the vegetable patch and chickens, saving such things for their golden years.
Lately, she’d split her time between her cottage and the countryside, where her ailing mother-in-law, Edith, lived. At eighty-seven, Edith often fell ill, and Evelyn stayed with her for weeks at a stretch, helping around the house.
The strangeness began recently. Returning from Edith’s one day, Evelyn noticed unfamiliar towels in the bathroom—her neatly folded blue ones had been replaced by garish green ones. Tins of beans had disappeared from the pantry, though she’d never touched them. The bedspread in the master bedroom lay crumpled, as if someone had slept there.
At first, Evelyn blamed her own forgetfulness. Had she mixed things up? Maybe the beans were never there, and she’d hung the towels herself? But the signs were too obvious. Nothing was stolen—no money, no jewellery, no electronics. The locks were intact, the windows unbroken.
She chalked it up to exhaustion, but soon it happened again. Different towels appeared, and more pantry items vanished. Determined for proof, Evelyn snapped photos before leaving for Edith’s. A week later, comparing them to reality, doubt vanished—someone *was* living in her home.
Evelyn rushed to Margaret. The neighbour listened, then frowned.
“Haven’t seen a soul, love. Your fence is too tall to peek over. What’s the matter?”
“Things keep moving!” Evelyn confessed. “Towels switch, food goes missing. I don’t know what to think!”
“Suppose it’s William? He’s got keys. Maybe he’s bringing someone round?” Margaret ventured.
Evelyn considered it. Her son and his wife, Charlotte, were happy—but what if he *was* hosting people behind her back? For peace of mind, she called William.
“Mum, seriously?” he spluttered. “What ‘secret guests’? I’m buried in overtime—ask Charlie! If you’re that bothered, let’s fit an alarm. Open the door without disarming it, and the police come running.”
“An alarm?” Evelyn scoffed. “It’s not a bank! All I’ve lost is a few tins of beans. Fine, love, I’ll think on it. Sorry for doubting you.”
After hanging up, she rang Edward. He chuckled when she explained.
“Evie, you’ve always been scatterbrained! Remember when you missed half the wedding mixing up the time? Bet you’ve done the same now.”
Evelyn relaxed slightly. True, she’d nearly ruined their registry office booking by misreading the clock. But the photos? Those didn’t lie.
—
Before her next visit to Edith, her daughter-in-law Charlotte called.
“Evelyn, how are you?”
“Sorting groceries,” Evelyn replied. “Off to Edith’s tomorrow—still need chemist bits and to pack. Up to my ears!”
“How long will you be gone?” Charlotte asked.
“The usual, a fortnight. What about you?”
“Not much, really. Fed the kids, about to iron. Ring me before you return, won’t you? Fancy bringing the grandchildren over—wouldn’t want to miss you.”
Evelyn agreed, but a seed of suspicion took root.
Before leaving, she asked Margaret, “Keep an eye on the cottage, would you? If you see anything odd—lights at night, strange cars—call me straightaway. I’ll cab it back.”
“Course, love,” Margaret nodded.
—
Three nights later, Margaret’s call came at midnight.
“Evie, get here! Someone’s just pulled up—black SUV, two people. Blonde woman, bloke with a moustache.”
Evelyn’s blood ran cold. Only one man she knew had a moustache—Charlotte’s father, Gregory. And the blonde? The spitting image of his wife, Margot.
She hailed a cab. An hour later, she unlatched her garden gate. The SUV parked there was unmistakable—she knew the plates. Peering through the kitchen window, she saw Margot setting the table with her groceries while Gregory uncorked a bottle of her wine.
Evelyn slipped inside, toeing off her shoes before stepping into the kitchen.
“Evening, lovely guests,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Bit late for a visit, isn’t it? And uninvited?”
The couple startled.
“Evie, you’re meant to be at Edith’s!” Gregory stammered.
“Ah, so you’ve memorised my schedule?” she replied icily. “Care to explain?”
“Don’t make a fuss,” Gregory soothed. “Fancied a quiet getaway, just us. What’s the harm?”
“*Harm*? You didn’t think to *ask*?” Evelyn’s hands shook. “Who said you could treat my home like a holiday let?”
“We’re family,” Margot cut in. “Must we beg permission every time?”
“So this isn’t your first time?” Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “Where’d you get the keys?”
They fell silent, unwilling to confess.
“I’m calling the constable,” Evelyn threatened.
“Charlotte gave them to us,” Gregory admitted grudgingly.
Evelyn dialled her daughter-in-law at once. Charlotte answered, groggy.
“What’s wrong? Why so late?”
“Your parents are in *my house*!” Evelyn hissed. “Explain.”
“Sorry, Evelyn,” Charlotte babbled. “I—I lent them the keys…”
“Charlotte, I never expected this of you!” Evelyn’s voice broke. “I’ve been frantic, thinking burglars were about! Was it too much to *ask*?”
“It was stupid, I know,” Charlotte whispered.
Evelyn didn’t make a scene. She let the couple stay the night, but by morning, they’d slunk away. A locksmith changed the bolts, and she kept the new keys from William—just in case.
Now, leaving for Edith’s, Evelyn no longer worried about her cottage. But the sting lingered. How could family do this? She’d learned the hard way: trust, even among kin, had its limits.
