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I didn’t sleep so much as hover in a state of threat assessment with pillows. Every car that drove past made me reach for the blinds. Every settling pop of the house made me imagine someone testing a window. Meanwhile, the kids slept like they were paid to advertise peace. By 8:12 a.m., I was at the kitchen sink scrubbing a mug I’d already washed twice just to justify standing in front of the window. The bag was gone. Not shifted. Not flattened. Not relocated by wind or racc

I didn’t watch from the house—I’m not that careless. I moved my truck earlier in the evening and parked it along the curb facing Marlene’s place. Nobody in this neighborhood uses their driveway for cars. They treat their garages like storage units or a living room extension and the street like long-term airport parking. So one more vehicle wedged between a mid-size SUV and somebody’s half-dead Jeep didn’t even register. I reclined the seat low enough to pass a drive-by glance

Marlene Dolion has had a crumpled brown paper bag hanging from a hook under her porch light for four days. Four. I counted, because once...

It was 1:43 a.m. — which is the exact hour when your survival instincts wake up but your dignity is still asleep. I was in bed pretending...

Most neighbors disappear the normal way — U-Haul, argument in the driveway, new mailbox numbers, maybe a Facebook post about “fresh...

When you grow up with a psychopathic brother, an alcoholic father, and neighbors who could qualify for parole boards and exorcisms, you...

Most people worry about burglars, serial killers or the price of eggs. Me? I’ve been at war with a window. Not metaphorically — though...

Every neighborhood has its quirks, but Rambling Trail? Well, we’re in a league of our own. Think cul-de-sac meets crime blotter with a splash of reality TV. For my own sanity (and your amusement), here’s a rundown of the key players you’ll hear about in this blog. The Vanished Harpers Karen Harper  — Former neighbor, worked at the sheriff’s office. Calculating, intoxicated, manipulative, always had "the dirt" on everyone. Sterling Harper  — Smug tennis-pro husband with a wand

I used to think we were just another ordinary suburban family. You know the type—quiet, hardworking, polite. I waved when we passed neighbors. Said "good morning" out of courtesy. I didn't hang out with them in their pools. I didn't sit in the driveway with them drinking beer. I didn't go over for afternoon cocktails or late night games . I was quiet, kept my head down and tried to stay in my lane. So it always struck me as strange—why were we constantly the subject of neig