You know those perfect Saturday mornings you see in lifestyle magazines? The sun rising just right, sipping your coffee in peace, and everyone in a good mood?

Yeah… this wasn’t one of those mornings.

I stepped out into our backyard and immediately felt something was off. Benedict, my husband, was supposed to be mowing the lawn—something he should’ve done a week ago. But instead of hearing the buzz of the grasscutter, there was only silence—aside from the faint chirping of birds and rustling leaves.

“Benedict!” I called out, my tone clearly annoyed.

I scanned the yard. There he was, standing near the fence that divided our yard from that of our new neighbor, Angela.

“Benedict, what are you doing?”

No answer. He was just staring past the fence, completely frozen. I was starting to lose my patience. I stormed over, the slap of my slippers loud against the concrete.

“Benedict, did you hear me? The lawn won’t mow itself!”

Still no response. He looked like he was in a trance. I sighed and stood beside him to see what he was staring at.

And then I saw her—Angela.

She had just moved in about a week ago. But since then, something about her made me uneasy. Maybe it was how quiet she was, or the way she always seemed to be watching from her window.

Or maybe it was that she was stunning—burgundy hair, early twenties, like a model straight out of a fashion magazine, not a quiet suburban neighborhood.

But now, in her garden, she was burying something—a large object wrapped in tarp beneath the flowerbed.

My heartbeat quickened. A chill ran down my spine.

“Benedict, do you see that?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He finally turned to me, looking dazed. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what? Angela! Look! She’s burying something—and it’s huge!”

He frowned. “Maybe it’s just garden supplies?”

“Garden supplies wrapped in tarp?” My voice was rising. “We need to call the police!”

“April, don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he replied. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

But before I could say anything else, Angela looked up at us. Her eyes widened. She’d seen us watching. Panicked, she rushed to cover the tarp with more soil.

“Oh my God, she saw us!” I cried, pulling Benedict back. “I’m calling the cops.”

I was sweating, hands trembling. I pressed the wrong number three times before finally getting through to 911.

“There’s a woman burying something in her backyard,” I told the dispatcher, my voice shaking. “It looks like… a body.”

“Ma’am, please stay calm. Can I have your address?”

I gave it right away, while Angela kept shoveling frantically. She was visibly terrified.

The police arrived quickly, sirens blaring, waking up the whole neighborhood. I dragged Benedict to the front of our house.

“Ma’am, please step back,” an officer said.

I nodded, gripping Benedict’s arm tightly. He finally seemed to snap out of it, stunned.

The officers approached Angela. She stood still, pale, her hands slightly raised.

“What’s going on here?” one officer asked, pointing to the freshly dug spot.

“It’s not what you think!” Angela cried, trembling. “I can explain!”

“We’ll take a look before we believe that,” another officer said, motioning his partner to dig.

They quickly uncovered the tarp. My breath caught in my throat. The object was at least five feet long.

And when they finally opened it… a body.

But wait—

Not a real one. It was a mannequin—incredibly realistic, complete with eyelashes!

“It’s a sculpture,” Angela explained. “I create hyper-realistic art for exhibits. I didn’t have space inside, so I buried it temporarily to keep it safe.”

The officers looked at each other. “We’ll still need to verify. Mind if we take a look inside your home?”

She sighed and nodded. “Of course. Come in.”

A few minutes later, the police exited, looking a little sheepish.

“She’s telling the truth,” one officer said. “She has a full studio with more sculptures.”

I turned red. “I’m so sorry. I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Angela replied with a laugh. “Honestly, it does look suspicious.”

“You could’ve just asked her first, April,” Benedict chimed in with a teasing grin. “We didn’t need a police show.”

“You’re not helping, Benedict,” I snapped, elbowing him.

Angela laughed. “It’s alright. Maybe next time, we just talk, yeah?”

I smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m really sorry.”

“No problem. Kinda funny, in hindsight.”

The three of us laughed. As the police drove off, Angela turned to me and offered her hand.

“Let’s be good neighbors, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, and we shook hands.

“Guess I should start on the lawn now,” Benedict muttered as he walked off. “Who knew a simple chore would end like this?”

“This is suburban life,” I whispered, watching Angela head back into her house.

As I walked inside, our eldest child greeted me.

“Mom? Did you get arrested?” they asked, eyes wide.

“No, sweetie,” I laughed. “Want some pancakes?”

As I whisked the pancake batter, I couldn’t help but smile—sometimes, even in mistaken panic, you still walk away learning something.