The Hidden Truth
The next morning I replayed the recording dozens of times.
The figure looked strangely transparent. Not invisible. Not ghostly. Almost like a reflection caught under infrared light.
I zoomed in. The old man wore worn denim overalls. On one shoulder, a faded company logo: Wilson Garage.
The name hit me unexpectedly.
That old repair shop had closed years ago.
Then another memory surfaced — the previous homeowner, Mrs. Carter, eighty-two, who had sold me the house before moving into assisted living. Her husband…
Tom Carter. He had owned Wilson Garage for forty years.
My heart raced. Could Ellie have seen an old photograph somewhere? Had Mrs. Carter mentioned him at some point? I couldn’t remember.
Still, curiosity replaced fear.
I decided to visit Mrs. Carter.
