The Abandoned House Mystery
On a fine winter evening, Michael sat on the balcony of Aunt Catherine's house, sipping coffee from his favourite cup. It was early December, the air was crisp and chilly, and he was enjoying his Christmas vacation to the fullest. He loved spending time with his aunt. She always showered him with love and, unlike most adults, never placed restrictions on him.
Michael leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he recalled the blissful moment of winning Uno against his friends earlier that day. There was a hint of pride in his smile—he considered that victory an accomplishment worth remembering.
Suddenly, something caught his attention. His gaze drifted beyond the backyard, and he locked eyes on the old, abandoned house down the lane. Around him, his friends were laughing and teasing, trying to pull him into their banter, but Michael barely noticed. He continued to stare.
"Michael! Michael!" called Peter, waving a hand in front of his face. Still not distracted, Michael muttered, "Do you see that house?"
Peter turned. "The spooky one? You’ve been staring at it forever. What's up?"
Michael didn’t reply immediately. A strange shadow had appeared at one of the windows—then vanished.
Aunt Catherine soon arrived with a plate full of snacks. The children ran towards her, excited and loud, nearly tumbling over each other to grab a piece of her famous potato fritters.
"Michael? You’re not coming?" she asked, noticing his absence.
Still focused on the house, he finally responded, there is a flickering light in the window. "I saw a shadow. In that abandoned house."
Aunt Catherine froze. "Don’t say such things," she said firmly. "I told you before, that place has a history."
Michael turned to her. "But spirits don’t clean windows, do they? That one was shining."
She sighed. "You’re not planning to play detective again, are you? Keep your nose clean, dear."
Despite the warning, Michael was intrigued. Last year, when he asked his aunt about the house, it was the first time she’d ever refused him anything. She hadn't explained much then, only mumbled something about it being cursed. The strange thing was, the rumors about the house only started a couple of years ago.
That evening, Michael gathered his secret group, the Mischievous Kids—six in total, inspired by the Secret Seven. Their headquarters was the old garage at Aunt Catherine’s. They held meetings every evening to discuss their next mission. Tonight’s topic? The abandoned house.
"I think we should go now," Michael insisted.
"Are you serious?" Juliet asked. "It’s dark, and that house gives me the creeps." "We’ll need a torch," Jane suggested.
Michael nodded and snuck into the house. Aunt was busy with her prayers, so she didn’t notice him grab the flashlight. Back at the garage, he laid out the plan.
"Dain and Ron, you’ll stay near the road and keep watch. Jane and Juliet, search around the building. Peter and I will find a way inside."
Everyone agreed, albeit hesitantly.
They reached the house quietly. Dain and Ron took positions, Jane and Juliet started scanning the yard, and Michael and Peter approached the rusted front door.
"Locked," Peter whispered.
Michael scanned the structure and pointed. "There’s a broken window. Maybe we can get in that way."
It was high up, but they tried anyway. As they struggled to reach it, a loud scream pierced the night.
"Juliet!" Michael shouted, running towards her.
She stood frozen, pointing to the ground. There lay a rodent, its fur sticky and red. Blood? Michael examined it closely. "Wait a minute... this isn’t blood. It’s... ketchup."
The rodent, tired and messy, was alive but clearly sluggish.
"Someone’s in the house," Michael said. "And they spilled this. That window was cleaned. It’s not a ghost. Someone’s hiding here."
The team returned home, determined to return in daylight. The next morning, they gathered again with tools and a ladder.
Climbing through the window, they finally entered the house. Dust covered everything, but the furniture inside was antique and intact. In one corner, they saw it: a massive ketchup can, half empty.
"The same ketchup," Peter whispered.
Next to the window room, they found sacks of food—rice, canned goods, biscuits. "This is someone’s hideout," said Jane.
Peter scanned the room. "Guys, over here. Cigarette butts. Marlboro."
Back at the garage, Juliet dug through old newspapers and gasped. "Here it is! A food burglar escaped police custody three years ago. All the clues match—even the Marlboro."
Michael nodded. "We need to catch him. But no one will believe us."
They told Aunt Catherine. She dismissed it. "I’ve got enough on my plate." "Fine. We’ll handle it," Michael said.
He sneaked some of Aunt’s sleeping pills, crushed them, and mixed them into a bottle of juice left in the house.
Later that day, the thief returned. They watched from their hiding spots as he drank the juice. Hours later—a thud. Michael and Peter rushed in. The man was unconscious.
They called the police.
Officers arrived soon after. "What are you kids doing here—" "We found the burglar," Michael said confidently.
The man was arrested, the food seized, and the officers praised the children. Photos were taken, handshakes exchanged.
The next morning, news of the captured food thief was printed in the paper. Curious crowds gathered outside the abandoned house. As he watched the crowd near the house, Michael wondered what their next adventure would be.
Aunt Grace laughed. "You kids and your adventures. Promise me the next one can wait until the next vacation."
Michael just smiled
