“The Trash Bag Secret”

My hands trembled as I peeled back the edges of the black plastic bag. The stench hit me first—strong, putrid, something far worse than regular garbage. I gagged, but I had to see what was inside.

And then, I did.

Bundles of cash.

Stacks upon stacks of old, crumpled bills, tied together with rubber bands. Some were faded, others crisp, like they’d been hoarded for years.

I barely had time to process what I was looking at before my neighbor, Margaret, yanked the bag out of my hands.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she hissed, her eyes wild with desperation.

My heart pounded. “What is all this? Why was this in your trash?”

She clutched the bag to her chest, her breath ragged. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

I took a step back, suddenly aware of how dangerously close we were to something far bigger than a simple misunderstanding.

“Margaret…” I said cautiously. “Is this stolen money?”

She let out a bitter laugh, one that was half a sob. “No. It’s mine. Every penny of it.”

I frowned. “Then why throw it away?”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Because it’s cursed.”

I stared at her. “Cursed?”

Margaret looked around, as if making sure no one else could hear. Then, in a hushed whisper, she said, “Thirty years ago, my husband robbed a bank. He swore he’d turn himself in, but… he never got the chance.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine. “What happened?”

“He died. A car accident. Right before he could confess. And ever since then, I’ve been living with this money, this… tainted thing. Every time I tried to use it, something terrible happened. I lost my sister. My son. My house burned down. It’s a curse, I tell you. And I finally decided—this money needs to be gone.”

I swallowed hard, glancing back at the bags. The weight of her words pressed on me.

“So when I threw it away,” she continued, voice trembling, “I was finally ready to let go. But you… you took that from me.”

I felt my stomach twist. What had I done?

Margaret turned to the dump worker nearby. “Burn it. All of it.”

He hesitated. “Ma’am, I—”

“NOW!” she screamed.

I stood frozen as the worker grabbed the bags and tossed them into the incinerator. Flames roared to life, devouring the money in seconds. Margaret let out a long, shaky breath.

And then, as if a weight had lifted off her, she smiled.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I didn’t know if I believed in curses. But as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that some things were never meant to be uncovered.