When my ten-year-old son Jake came home carrying a small wooden box from our unsettling neighbor, Mr. Carson, I immediately felt uneasy. But nothing prepared me for what happened when Jake opened it. Swarms of tiny insects poured out, quickly scattering and biting Jake, leaving him covered in painful welts. Our quiet home suddenly turned into a nightmare.

I confronted Mr. Carson, demanding to know why he had given my son such a horrifying “gift.” With a cruel smile, he confessed he was seeking revenge because our family lived on land his ancestors once owned. Realizing his malicious intent and fearing for Jake’s safety, I knew we couldn’t stay another day in that house.

We hurriedly packed and moved to my sister’s home, where we found some comfort but also a lingering sense of loss. Meanwhile, rumors spread that Mr. Carson’s own home had become infested with the same insects, an ironic twist of fate that gave me a small sense of justice.

Though shaken, Jake and I started to rebuild our lives in a new place. The ordeal left scars, but it also strengthened our bond and resolve. Now, safe and hopeful, we look forward to a future free from fear and malice.