
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.
Drone Captures Rare Images of Isolated People Who Are Cut Off From the World
G. Miranda’s breathtaking photographs, captured for Survival International, offer a rare glimpse into the secluded existence of various uncontacted tribes worldwide. From the enigmatic Sentinelese on North Sentinel Island, India, to the Amazon tribes near Brazil’s Javari River valley bordering Peru, these images provide a captivating aerial view.
The drone photographs are proof of the existence of untouched tribes.

A mesmerizing compilation video, shared on Death Island Expeditions’ YouTube channel in 2018, has garnered over 3.5 million views, showcasing these remote settlements and their inhabitants. Witness tribespeople, armed with traditional bows and arrows, gazing curiously at the hovering drones, offering a poignant insight into their untouched world.
It amuses people by showing the lives of tribespeople, which are different from ours.

Captivated viewers on YouTube expressed profound astonishment at the vast disparity between their lives and those of these tribespeople. One commenter marveled, “It blows my mind how different our lives are. The fact that they don’t even know about the existence of grocery stores, factories, phones, social media, everything that makes our society what it is. It’s so surreal.”
However, these untouched tribes are now in danger and need protection.

FUNAI, Brazil’s National Indian Foundation, plays a pivotal role in formulating policies concerning indigenous tribes, and their involvement in capturing drone footage underscores their commitment to preserving these cultures.
While some imagery dates back to 2008, as reported by Survival International, the significance of these visuals remains timeless, as emphasized by uncontacted tribes expert José Carlos dos Reis Meirelles Júnior. He highlighted the urgent need to protect these tribes from external threats, such as illegal logging activities encroaching from Peru.
“We did the overflight to show their houses, to show they are there, to show they exist,” he said.

A film has also been released. The Mission, a poignant documentary directed by Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss, sheds light on the tragic fate of American missionary John Allen Chau. His ill-fated attempt to make contact with the Sentinelese people in 2018 resulted in his untimely demise, symbolizing the delicate balance between curiosity and respect for these isolated communities.
Another curious discovery occurred in Peru. The discovery of “alien mummies” at the airport has captured global attention, and scientists have revealed something disturbing.
Preview photo credit Death Island Expeditions / YouTube, G. Miranda/FUNAI/Survival
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