In the evenings, the village was quiet, only from one yard came a muffled sound — the shovel going into the earth again and again.
— Do you hear that? — one neighbor asked quietly.
— I hear… she’s digging again, — the other replied.
At night, when the windows were already dark and only a few dogs barked in the distance, from the garden on the outskirts came the dull thud of a shovel. The neighbor, a woman about sixty with a soft, tired smile, went out into her yard every night and began digging the ground. The moonlight revealed her silhouette among the flowerbeds and the old fence, and the earth under her feet gradually turned into uneven pits.
At first people just exchanged glances, talking about it on the bench near the shop. They had all kinds of ideas about it.
— Maybe she’s transplanting potatoes? — one said.
— In November? At night? Something’s not right here.
— I’m telling you, she’s hiding something.
— But what? — the neighbors kept discussing.
One day curiosity took over — and two neighbors decided to follow her.
They hid behind the old shed and watched for hours as the woman, breathing heavily, drove the shovel into the hard soil, sometimes falling to her knees as if listening for something under the ground. The neighbors were horrified when they finally understood why the woman was digging so tirelessly and what exactly she was hiding 🫣🫣 Continuation in the first comment 👇 👇
The truth came out by accident. One of the neighbors, under the pretext of bringing her a jar of jam, stopped by during the day.
Over a cup of tea the woman confessed — before his death, her husband had told her that once, many years ago, he had buried several valuables in the yard: antique jewelry, gold coins, even a family ring.
He was weak, spoke quietly, and never managed to say the exact place.
At first the widow thought she could forget about it. But with every passing day, the thought of the treasure gave her no peace. And so, armed with a shovel, she began her search.
Pit after pit, flowerbed after flowerbed — but so far, neither the shine of gold nor old coins. Only the dark, damp soil whose smell now filled her home.
They say she is still digging to this day. And no one knows — whether it is simply the desire to find her husband’s legacy, or whether something else is hidden beneath her garden, something he never dared to tell her about.
