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 charming neighborhood. We were thrilled, thinking we’d hit the jackpot. But our housewarming party revealed a dark side to this picturesque community.

“Gabby, honey, can you grab the cheese platter from the kitchen?” Regina called.

I headed to the kitchen, excited about meeting our new neighbors. “Coming, babe!” I replied, balancing the platter as I made my way back.

Regina beamed. “This is going to be perfect,” she said.

“I know,” I grinned. “I can’t believe we finally have our own place in such a great neighborhood.”

The doorbell rang, and we opened it to welcome our first guests. The house buzzed with laughter and conversation as neighbors mingled, sipping wine and sharing stories.

“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. “We already do. Everyone’s been so welcoming.”

“Oh, just wait,” Mrs. Harper said with a wink. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

As the night wore on, I noticed something odd—every guest was wearing red gloves.

I nudged Regina, whispering, “Hey, what’s with all the gloves?”

She frowned. “That’s weird. Maybe it’s a local thing?”

“But it’s summer,” I pointed out. “And they’re all the same shade of red.”

A couple wearing red gloves standing outside a house | Source: AmoMama

Nobody took their gloves off, even when it got warm. Some guests seemed to hide their hands when we looked too closely.

Curiosity got the better of me. I approached Mrs. Harper, casually asking about the gloves.

“They’re just a neighborhood tradition,” she said, her smile faltering. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

“But why red? And why gloves?” I asked.

Mrs. Harper’s eyes darted around. “All in good time. Go check on your other guests.”

As the evening ended, Regina and I exchanged worried glances. Something felt off.

The next morning, we found a note slipped under our door: “Welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t forget your red gloves. You’ll need them soon.”

“Gabby, what does this mean?” Regina gasped.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to wonder if moving here was a mistake.”

“Should we call the police?” Regina suggested.

I shook my head. “And say what? That our neighbors wear matching gloves and left us a cryptic note? They’d laugh us out of town.”

Days passed, and our neighbors continued to subtly encourage us to get our own red gloves. One morning, Mrs. Harper told me the gloves protect us from the Hand of the Forgotten, a spirit that haunts the land.

I was stunned. “A spirit? You’re kidding.”

Mrs. Harper nodded gravely. “Ignore this at your own peril.”

That evening, Regina and I laughed it off as small-town superstition. But strange things began happening—garden tools moved, odd symbols appeared, and we heard whispers and footsteps outside our windows.

One morning, Regina pointed out a crude drawing of a hand in the dirt. “Did you do this?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Did you?”

“Gabby, I’m scared,” Regina whispered. “What if Mrs. Harper was right?”

I tried to reassure her, but the final straw came when we found a red-gloved voodoo doll on our front porch.

“We need answers,” I said firmly.

We called a neighborhood meeting, inviting everyone over. As our living room filled with red-gloved neighbors, I asked, “What’s the deal with the red gloves? We’re finding weird things around our house. Is this a joke?”

Our neighbors exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter. Mrs. Harper explained that the gloves and the “Hand of the Forgotten” were part of an elaborate prank.

“It’s our way of welcoming new couples and seeing how they handle a little fun,” she said. “You two were our most entertaining victims yet!”

Regina and I were stunned but laughed along.

A few weeks later, we decided on some playful revenge. We invited all the neighbors for a “thank you” dinner, planning to surprise them with realistic-looking fake bugs.

As the night progressed, our neighbors started finding the “surprises” we’d planted. The room erupted in laughter as they realized they’d been pranked in return.

“Payback’s a bug, isn’t it?” I quipped.

Mrs. Harper smiled. “You two fit right in. Welcome to the neighborhood!”

As we watched our neighbors leave, red gloves tucked under their arms, Regina leaned into me. “I think we’re going to be very happy here.”

I kissed her head. “I think you’re right. Though next time we move, maybe we should ask about any neighborhood ‘traditions’ before we sign the papers!”

We laughed, heading back inside, a place filled with new friends and memories in the making.