While gardening, this woman happened upon some rusted metal things.
She wasn’t sure what they could have been used for at first, but everything made sense when she realized what they were!
Find out more about these enigmatic objects by reading on!
“I was planting when I discovered a number of these, but I had no idea what they were. I’ve removed all of the metal that I
Many online users responded to the woman’s social media post with a photograph of the odd objects, offering their opinions in the comments area.
It turns out that they look like old-fashioned window weights!
For those who are unaware, vintage window weights are those bulky metal objects that are sometimes concealed behind the frames of windows from earlier eras. They made those windows open and close smoothly, which is why they were so important back then.
However, how do they function? You enquire. The weights are suspended inside pockets or channels that are present in the window frame. Usually constructed of cast iron, they were fastened to cords or ropes that, via pulleys, connect to the window sashes. These weights descended as the window was opened, distributing the sashes’ weight and facilitating up-and-down movement.
Antique window weights were very popular in homes constructed before the advent of sophisticated modern window technology; older homes from the 1800s and early 1900s were most likely equipped with these bad boys.
However, when window technology advanced over time, these antiquated weights became unfashionable. Contemporary windows incorporate advanced materials for security and insulation, as well as counterbalance springs. They’re also much simpler to maintain!
Vintage window weights still have a wonderful retro vibe, even though they’re not as fashionable as they once were. Some people who enjoy renovating historic homes want to keep them standing in order to preserve their classic charm.
To put it briefly, old-fashioned windows needed vintage window weights in order to function properly. Even if they’re less prevalent now, they’re still a great way to remember the quality of craftsmanship in the past.
Thus, if you are ever in an ancient house with old-fashioned windows, stop and admire the silent operation of those handy window weights!
I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
The quietude of Elm Street, once a symphony of birdsong and gentle laughter, had been shattered. The arrival of the new neighbors, the Morlocks, had thrown the idyllic tranquility of their little community into chaos.
Initially, I had tried to be welcoming. A plate of freshly baked cookies, a warm smile, a friendly “Welcome to the neighborhood!” But my overture had been met with a chilling silence. The woman who answered the door, pale and gaunt, had regarded me with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Ew, it smells awful,” she had muttered, her eyes darting nervously around as if I were some sort of disease.
Then came the fountain. A monstrosity of wrought iron and gargoyles, it stood imposingly in their yard, a constant, jarring presence. The incessant gurgling and splashing, day and night, had become the soundtrack to our lives. Sleep became elusive, replaced by the monotonous drone of the water.
The neighborhood, once a haven of peace and camaraderie, was now a battleground. Tempers flared. Arguments erupted at the weekly community meetings. Finally, a vote was taken – a unanimous decision to request the removal of the fountain.
And so, the unenviable task of filing the official complaint fell to me. I, the self-proclaimed peacemaker, the neighborhood’s unofficial ambassador of goodwill, was now the bearer of bad tidings.
That evening, as I returned home, a small, ominous package lay on my doorstep. No return address. A shiver ran down my spine.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, scrawled with menacing handwriting:
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. YOU WILL BE POLITE TO YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS, OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.”
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. Who was it? The Morlocks? Or someone else, someone watching, someone waiting for the right moment to strike?
The following days were a blur of paranoia and unease. I checked every window and door lock multiple times a night. I slept with the light on, the faintest sound sending shivers down my spine. My once peaceful neighborhood had transformed into a place of fear and suspicion.
The police, after much persuasion, agreed to investigate. They questioned the Morlocks, of course, but they denied any involvement. The woman, her face gaunt and drawn, maintained her innocence, claiming she was simply trying to enjoy her own property.
The investigation yielded nothing. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no concrete evidence. The threat remained, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic community.
I started carrying a small can of pepper spray, my hand instinctively reaching for it at every rustle of leaves, every unfamiliar sound. I avoided going out alone at night, my days filled with a constant sense of unease.
The incident had changed me. The once friendly, outgoing neighbor was now withdrawn, suspicious, constantly scanning the shadows for signs of danger. The peace and tranquility of Elm Street, shattered by the arrival of the Morlocks, had been replaced by a chilling sense of fear and uncertainty.
And the fountain, that monstrous, discordant symbol of their arrival, continued to spew its icy water, a constant reminder of the darkness that had seeped into the heart of their once idyllic community.I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
Leave a Reply