A mysterious box appears on Evan’s doorstep containing a baby photo with a birthmark identical to his and a faded image of an old house shrouded in trees. Haunted by questions of family and identity, Evan becomes obsessed with finding it. Two years later, he does.
When people ask where I’m from, I always say “here and there.” It’s simpler that way. Nobody really wants to hear about foster homes and sleeping in rooms that never felt mine.
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
But truth be told, I’ve been searching for the true answer to where I came from my whole life.
I remember Mr. Bennett, my 8th-grade history teacher, better than most of the families I lived with. He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a lost cause.
I didn’t realize it back then, but his belief in me was the start of everything. He’s the reason I clawed my way to a college grant. But college didn’t care how scrappy I was.
A college class | Source: Pexels
While other students called home for emergency cash, I worked double shifts at the campus café, microwaving three-day-old pizza for dinner. I never complained. Who would listen?
After graduation, I lucked into a job as an assistant to Richard — think Wall Street shark in a luxury suit. He was ruthless but brilliant. He didn’t care where I came from, only that I could keep up.
For five years, I followed him like a shadow, learning everything from negotiation tactics to the art of not flinching in a boardroom.
Businesspeople in a boardroom | Source: Pexels
When I walked away, it wasn’t with bitterness. It was with the blueprint for my logistics company: Cole Freight Solutions.
That company became my pride and proof that I was so much more than just a name on a file in some state database.
I thought I’d finally escaped my past in the foster system. I was 34, too old to be haunted by my mysterious origins when my future lay before me. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. But it turned out my past had more to show me.
A man in a warehouse | Source: Midjourney
I’d just come home from work and the box was sitting on my front step like it had fallen out of the sky. No postage, no address, no delivery slip.
At first, I didn’t touch it. I stood there, hands in my jacket pockets, scanning the street. No one was around. The only movement was the sway of the neighbor’s wind chimes. After a few minutes, I crouched down and ran my fingers along its edges.
It was just a plain old cardboard box, soft at the corners like it had been wet once and dried in the sun.
A slightly damaged cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
I carried it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It sat on my kitchen table, silent but loud in its own way.
I pulled open the flaps, and I swear, for a second, I stopped breathing.
It was full of toys. Old, battered toys. A wooden car with half its wheels gone, a stuffed rabbit with one button-eye dangling from a loose thread. They smelled like time — musty and sad. Then I saw the photos.
Items in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
Faded images spilled out like loose puzzle pieces. The first photo I grabbed stopped me cold. A baby’s chubby face, round cheeks flushed with life. My eyes locked on a small, jagged mark on his arm. My breath hitched.
No. It couldn’t be.
I yanked up my sleeve, heart pounding hard enough to feel it in my ears. There it was — that same odd-shaped birthmark just below my elbow. My fingers hovered over it like I’d never seen it before.
A birthmark on a man’s arm | Source: Midjourney
My gaze flicked back to the table, hands moving with urgency now. Another photo lay beneath the first. This one was different. It showed an old, weathered house half-hidden behind a wall of trees. It looked like something forgotten.
Beneath the photo, faint words scratched across the bottom. I tilted it toward the kitchen light, squinting like that would sharpen the letters.
Two words floated up from the smudges: “Cedar Hollow.”
A man holding a photo | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have time to process it before I spotted the letter. The paper had the rough texture of an old grocery bag and smelled faintly of mildew. My fingers hesitated as if the letter might burn me. But I opened it anyway.
“This box was meant for you, Evan. It was left with you as a baby at the orphanage. The staff misplaced it, and it was only recently found. We are returning it to you now.”
My legs buckled, and I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
My elbows pressed into the table as I gripped my head with both hands. I read it again, slower this time as if slowing down would change what it said. It didn’t.
The photo, the baby, the birthmark, the house. This box — this stupid, worn-out box — had handed me the key to a question I’d stopped asking myself years ago: “Who are you?”
That night, I sat at my desk with the photo pinned beneath my fingers. I scanned it, enlarged it, and ran it through cheap online tools that promised “enhancement” but only made it worse.
A frustrated man working on a laptop | Source: Midjourney
Every blurry line made me angrier. Every click of the mouse felt like I was pushing further from the truth.
Weeks passed. My search history turned into a rabbit hole of maps, old county registries, and forum posts full of strangers who “knew a guy” who “might know a place.”
Every lead ended in a dead end, but I couldn’t let it go. So I hired professionals. Real investigators with access to records I couldn’t touch.
A detective | Source: Pexels
I told myself it was just curiosity. Just a little unfinished business. But I knew better. I knew I wouldn’t stop.
Months passed. The investigators burned through my savings, but I didn’t care. I was chasing something bigger than logic. I stopped taking client calls and ducked out of friend meetups. People asked if I was sick. I wasn’t sick; I was consumed.
Two years later, my phone buzzed at 2:16 p.m. I answered before the second ring.
A man holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not gonna believe this,” said the investigator. “Cedar Hollow. It’s real, and I found it. It’s a house about 130 miles from you. I’m texting you the address.”
I hung up, hands gripping the phone so tight it squeaked.
It was real… the text with the address flashed up on my screen, followed shortly by a location pin. This was it. I was going home.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
I drove three hours through back roads and half-forgotten highways. No music. No distractions. Just me, the hum of the engine, and the low thump of my heartbeat in my ears.
The house wasn’t hard to spot. It sat at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by trees that twisted upward like bony fingers. The boards on the windows and doors were cracked. Vines crawled up the siding. It looked tired, like it had been holding its breath for years.
I parked the car and got out.
A neglected house | Source: Midjourney
The air smelled like damp leaves and old bark. My breath came out in puffs of white mist. I walked up to it slowly, one foot in front of the other.
My fingers dug under the edge of a loose board on the back window. It took three hard pulls before it came free, nails popping loose. I hoisted myself through, landing on creaky floorboards with a thud.
The first thing I saw was the cradle.
An old cradle | Source: Midjourney
It was exactly like the photo. The curve of the wood was identical, and the hand-carved stars on the side were the same. I reached for it, touching the edge with my fingertips.
On the small table beside it, there was a picture frame. A woman holding a baby. Her smile was soft and tired, but there was warmth there. I knew that smile.
I knew it because I’d been waiting for it my whole life.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I whispered, lifting the picture frame.
The frame caught on something, stirring up the dust. There was a letter on the table, folded neatly like someone had taken great care. My fingers shook as I opened it.
“Someday you will come here, son, and you will find all this.”
I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My eyes ran over every word, etching them into my mind.
“I am very sick. Your father left me, and I have no relatives. Just like you will not have any, since there’s no way I can keep you now. I’m so sorry, my angel. Be strong and know that I had no other choice. I love you.”
My tears hit the paper.
A letter | Source: Pexels
I tried to wipe them away, but they left faint stains on the ink. I read it again. Then again.
“I love you.” I wiped the dust off the picture and stared at my mother’s face. I had her eyes and her chin, her letter, and her love, but it wasn’t enough.
Grief only drowns you if you stay under too long. I stayed under for a week, maybe two. Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
I called a construction crew.
The first day, they thought I was nuts. The place was a wreck, a “tear-down” as one guy put it. But I shook my head.
“We rebuild it. Everything.”
So, they put in new walls, new windows, and new floors. I took out a loan and worked like a man possessed to make it happen, but it was worth it.
A house | Source: Midjourney
One year later, I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips. The air smelled like fresh pine and clean paint.
But not everything was new.
I kept the cradle. I cleaned it by hand, sanding the rough edges, and staining it until it gleamed. I also kept the photo of her and me and put it on the mantel.
A mantel | Source: Pexels
It took me a lifetime to find it, but I was finally home.
Here’s another story: When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic stir her unease. The devastating betrayal she discovers up there forces her to flee the house.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
These bugs come out at nighttime, and attacking victims, they silently kill or leave them with a lifelong infection
When Emiliana Rodriguez was a little girl, she recalls watching friends play a nighttime soccer match when one of the players abruptly died on the pitch.
Unaware of what had transpired, Rodriguez, a native of Bolivia, developed a phobia of the dark and the “monster”—the silent killer known as Chagas—that she had been told only appears at night.
Chagas disease is a unique sort of illness that is spread by nocturnal insects. It is also known as the “silent and silenced disease” that infects up to 8 million people annually, killing 12,000 people on average.
Emiliana Rodriguez, 42, discovered she had to live with Chagas, a “monster,” after relocating to Barcelona from Bolivia 27 years ago.
“Night is when the fear generally struck. I didn’t always sleep well,” she admitted. “I was worried that I wouldn’t wake up from my sleep.”
Rodriguez had specific tests when she was eight years old and expecting her first child, and the results indicated that she carried the Chagas gene. She recalled the passing of her buddy and remarked, “I was paralyzed with shock and remembered all those stories my relatives told me about people suddenly dying.” “I wondered, ‘What will happen to my baby?’”
Rodriguez was prescribed medicine, though, to prevent the parasite from vertically transmitting to her unborn child. After her daughter was born, she tested negative. Elvira Idalia Hernández Cuevas, 18, was unaware of the Mexican silent killer until her 18-year-old son was diagnosed with Chagas.
Idalia, an eighteen-year-old blood donor from her birthplace near Veracruz, Mexico, had a positive diagnosis for Chagas, a disease caused by triatomine bugs, often known as vampire or kissing bugs and bloodsucking parasites, when her sample was tested.
In an interview with the Guardian, Hernandez stated, “I started to research Chagas on the internet because I had never heard of it.” When I read that it was a silent murderer, I became really afraid. I had no idea where to go or what to do.
She is not alone in this; a lot of people are ignorant of the diseases that these unpleasant bugs can spread. The term Chagas originates from Carlos Ribeiro Justiniano Chagas, a Brazilian physician and researcher who made the discovery of the human case in 1909.
Over the past few decades, reports of the incidence of Chagas disease have been made in Europe, Japan, Australia, Latin America, and North America.
Kissing bugs are mostly found in rural or suburban low-income housing walls, where they are most active at night when humans are asleep. The insect bites an animal or person, then excretes on the skin of the victim. The victim may inadvertently scratch the area and sever the skin, or they may spread the excrement into their mouth or eyes. This is how the T. cruzi infection is disseminated.
The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that between 6 and 7 million people worldwide—roughly 8 million people in Mexico, Central America, and South America—have Chagas disease; the majority of these individuals remain oblivious to their illness. These estimates are provided by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). The persistent infection might be fatal if untreated. According to the Guardian, Chagas disease kills over 12,000 people year, “more people in Latin America than any other parasite disease, including malaria.”
Despite the fact that these bugs have been found in the United States—nearly 300,000 people are infected—they are not thought to be endemic.
While some people never experience any symptoms, the CDC notes that 20 to 30 percent experience gastrointestinal or heart problems that can cause excruciating pain decades later.
Furthermore, only 10% of cases are detected globally, which makes prevention and treatment exceedingly challenging.
Hernández and her daughter Idalia went to see a number of doctors in search of assistance, but all were also uninformed about Chagas disease and its management. “I was taken aback, terrified, and depressed because I believed my kid was going to pass away. Above all, Hernandez stated, “I was more anxious because I was unable to locate any trustworthy information.”
Idalia finally got the care she required after receiving assistance from a family member who was employed in the medical field.
“The Mexican government claims that the Chagas disease is under control and that not many people are affected, but that is untrue,” Hernández asserts. Medical practitioners misdiagnose Chagas disease for other heart conditions because they lack knowledge in this area. Most people are unaware that there is Chagas in Mexico.
The World Health Organization (WHO) has classified chagas as a neglected tropical disease, which means that the global health policy agenda does not include it.
Chagas is overlooked in part because, according to Colin Forsyth, a research manager at the Drugs for Neglected Diseases Initiative (DNDi), “it’s a silent disease that stays hidden for so long in your body… because of the asymptomatic nature of the initial part of the infection.”
Forsyth went on to say, “The people affected just don’t have the power to influence healthcare policy,” making reference to the impoverished communities. It’s kept hidden by a convergence of social and biological factors.
Chagas, however, is becoming more well recognized as it spreads to other continents and can also be transferred from mother to child during pregnancy or childbirth, as well as through organ and blood transfusions.
The main objective of the Chagas Hub, a UK-based facility founded by Professor David Moore, a doctor at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London, is to get “more people tested and treated, and to manage the risk of transmission, which in the UK is from mother to child,” according to Professor Moore.
Regarding the WHO’s 2030 aim for the eradication of the disease, Moore stated that progress toward it is “glacial” and added, “I can’t imagine that we’ll be remotely close by 2030.” That seems improbable.
Two medications that have been available for more than 50 years to treat chagas are benznidazole and nifurtimox, which according to Moore are “toxic, unpleasant, not particularly effective.”
Although the medications are effective in curing babies, there is no guarantee that they will prevent or halt the advancement of the condition in adults.
Regarding severe adverse effects, Rodriguez remembers getting dizziness and nausea as well as breaking out in hives. She completed her therapy, and she gets checked out annually.
Moore goes on to say that while creating stronger anti-Chaga drugs is crucial to stopping the disease’s spread, pharmaceutical companies are currently not financially motivated to do so.
As president of the International Federation of Associations of People Affected by Chagas condition (FINDECHAGAS), Hernández is on a mission to raise awareness of the condition until there is a greater need on the market for innovative treatments.
In Spain, Rodriguez is battling the “monster” as part of a campaign to increase public awareness of Chagas disease being conducted by the Barcelona Institute for Global Health.
“I’m tired of hearing nothing at all,” Rodriguez declares. “I want Chagas to be discussed and made public. I’m in favor of testing and therapy for individuals.
They are being heard, too.
World Chagas Disease Day was instituted by the WHO on April 14, 1909, the day Carlos discovered the disease’s first human case.The WHO states that “a diversified set of 20 diseases and disease categories are set out to be prevented, controlled, eliminated, and eradicated through global targets for 2030 and milestones.” And among them is Chagas.
To prevent a possible infestation, the CDC suggests taking the following steps:
Close up any gaps and fissures around doors, windows, walls, and roofs.
Clear out the rock, wood, and brush piles close to your home.
Put screens on windows and doors, and fix any tears or holes in them.
Close up gaps and crevices that lead to the exterior, crawl areas beneath the home, and the attic.
Keep pets inside, especially during the evening.
Maintain the cleanliness of your home and any outdoor pet resting places, and check for bugs on a regular basis.
If you believe you have discovered a kissing insect, the CDC recommends avoiding crushing it. Alternatively, carefully put the bug in a jar, fill it with rubbing alcohol, and then freeze it. It is then recommended that you bring the bug’s container to an academic lab or your local health authority so that it can be identified.
Please tell this tale to help spread the word about an illness that goes unnoticed!
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