The first knock on the door seemed innocent enough, but as more neighbors arrived at our housewarming party, the night took a curious turn. Each guest was wearing matching red gloves, adding an eerie twist to what should have been a joyful celebration.
When Regina and I moved into our beautiful Victorian home, we were filled with excitement. It was the perfect house in a charming neighborhood, the kind of place we had always dreamed of. We were eager to meet our neighbors and become part of the community. Little did we know, our housewarming party would reveal a strange tradition.
The evening started off perfectly. Regina was busy setting up while I grabbed the cheese platter from the kitchen. “This is going to be perfect,” she said, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
The doorbell rang, and we rushed to greet our first guests. As more people arrived, we noticed something peculiar: everyone was wearing red gloves. In the middle of July. It seemed odd, but we brushed it off at first, thinking it might be a quirky local custom.
As the night wore on, the mystery deepened. No one took off their gloves, not even to eat or drink. When I asked one of our neighbors, Mrs. Harper, about the gloves, she gave me a cryptic smile and said, “It’s just a little tradition around here. You’ll understand soon enough.”
By the end of the night, Regina and I were puzzled. 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.”
Curiosity grew as our neighbors continued to drop hints about the gloves. When I asked Mrs. Harper directly, she lowered her voice and said, “They protect you from the Hand of the Forgotten, a spirit that haunts this land.”
One day, we found a small voodoo doll wearing red gloves on our porch. That was the last straw. We decided to confront our neighbors.
Gathering everyone in our living room, I asked, “What’s going on with the gloves and the strange things happening around our house?”
To our surprise, the room erupted in laughter. Mrs. Harper stepped forward, smiling. “It’s all a prank!” she said, explaining that the gloves, the ghost story, and the strange occurrences were part of a long-standing tradition to welcome new residents.
Regina and I laughed along, relieved that it was all in good fun. A few weeks later, we hosted another party and got even with a playful prank of our own, planting fake bugs around the house. Our neighbors laughed as they found them, and we realized we had become true members of the community.
As we closed the door after our last guest left, Regina leaned into me and said, “I think we’re going to be very happy here.”
“I agree,” I replied. “Though next time, we’ll ask about the traditions before we move in!”
