Thanksgiving at Jim’s family home felt like stepping into a holiday movie. You know, the kind with twinkling lights, a crackling fireplace, and the scent of homemade pie wafting through the air.

His mom, Eleanor, buzzed around the kitchen with effortless grace, pulling out a golden-brown turkey and buttery rolls. His dad, Harold, delivered groan-worthy dad jokes at regular intervals, while his younger brother, Max, showed me the quirky traditions that made this family unforgettable.

“Here,” Max said, handing me a ridiculous turkey hat with googly eyes. “It’s mandatory for the family photo.”

I laughed as Jim slipped one on too, rolling his eyes in mock despair.

“Yeah, welcome to the clan, Lizzie,” he said. “We’re all prisoners to Mom’s traditions.”

I didn’t feel like a prisoner at all. This was the kind of family dynamic I’d always dreamed of. It was the laughter, the warmth, and everyone working in sync, even if it was chaotic. I loved it all.

After dinner, as we settled into the cozy living room, Eleanor clapped her hands.

“Now, Liz, since you’re new to the fold, it’s time for the tradition!”

Jim visibly stiffened next to me.

“Mom, no, let’s skip it this year. We don’t need to do that every time I bring someone home!”

“Oh, don’t be silly, honey!” she said, waving him off. “You’ll love this, Liz! We always show Jim’s baby photos, and let me tell you, darling, it’s a hoot!”

Jim groaned.

“Brace yourself, babe,” he muttered to me, picking up his glass of whiskey.

Eleanor emerged from the hall with a gigantic, worn photo album. She flipped it open with gusto, and the room lit up with laughter.

This. I loved this. My family hadn’t been very close. My parents tried when we were younger, but at some point, they realized that they didn’t want to do the close parenting thing. For Thanksgiving this year, my brother was with his friends and my parents were in China.

“Oh! I love this one!” Eleanor said.

It was a photo of baby Jim, and he was undeniably adorable. He was sitting in a high chair, covered in spaghetti. Then there was another one of him as a toddler wearing an oversized Spiderman costume. The captions, written in Eleanor’s cheerful scrawl, were as embarrassing as promised.

“Look at this one!” Max howled. “Jim in the tub with rubber ducks!”

Jim buried his face in his hands while everyone laughed.

“I hate this tradition,” he mumbled, though I could see a hint of a smile.

Then Eleanor turned a page, and the atmosphere shifted.

My eyes landed on a photo of the family posing in their front yard. It was a charming scene—little Jim holding Max’s hand, Eleanor smiling brightly, and Harold standing proudly behind them.

But in the background, blurred yet unmistakable, was a woman. She wasn’t smiling, and something about her felt… off.

“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the figure.

Eleanor frowned.

“Who’s who, dear?”

“There,” I said, leaning closer. “Behind you all. The woman.”

The room grew quiet. Everyone leaned in, and Harold’s face went pale.

“I… I don’t remember anyone being there,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Maybe it’s a neighbor?” Max suggested, but his tone was uncertain.

He turned the page, and my stomach dropped.

There she was again!

This time, she was standing under a tree in the background, her face partially obscured by shadows.

Eleanor clutched her chest.

“What is happening? Who is she? Why is she in our photos? Max, pass me my rosary!”

“This… this doesn’t make sense. These pictures are years apart. How could the same woman be in different places?” Harold muttered.

“I need to call Father Thomas,” Eleanor said, pacing the living room. “This is not normal!”

Jim, sitting silently beside me, started shaking slightly. At first, I thought he was overwhelmed. Then I realized he was holding back laughter.

“Oh my goodness,” Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide. “Is she a ghost? Has she been following us all these years? I told you, Harold! That house we lived in before this one wasn’t right! I told you something felt off…”

Max flipped through the album frantically. The mysterious woman appeared in photo after photo—at the park, behind a picnic table, peering through a window.

And at every page turn, Eleanor’s face paled even further.

“This is why I always told you to sage the house, Harold! You never listen to me, do you? Look now! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry!”

Jim finally lost it, doubling over with laughter.

“Mom, stop! Stop!” he gasped, tears streaming down his face.

Eleanor spun around, suddenly furious.

“Why are you laughing, Jim?” she asked. “This isn’t funny! Not at all!”

My boyfriend wiped his eyes, barely able to speak through his laughter.

“Because… because I know who she is.”

Everyone froze, myself included. What was this man on about?

“What? You what?” Eleanor shrieked, throwing a cushion at him.

Jim grinned, holding up his hands.

“Okay, okay! Calm down! It’s just a prank.”

“It’s a what?” Harold gasped.

“Excuse me, what?” Eleanor said, holding her chest.

“It’s Photoshop,” he admitted, still grinning. “I learned it for my design certification course. They said that the edits needed to be convincing to pass. So, I used our family photos as practice.”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped.

“You Photoshopped a creepy woman into our family photos? Why on earth would you do that? Where are the originals?”

“Relax, they’re tucked behind the edited photos.”

“Don’t you tell me to relax,” Eleanor said, but we could all see that she had calmed down.

Jim smirked, leaning back on the couch.

“Because you take out these albums every single year and humiliate me in front of whoever I’m dating or family that’s visiting. Every. Single. Time. I told you to stop, and you didn’t. So, I decided to get even with you and Dad.”

Max doubled over laughing. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done, bro!”

Harold, who’d been silent for most of the reveal, finally let out a chuckle.

“Well, you’ve got to admit, Eleanor, this is memorable!”

Her face was a mix of horror and reluctant amusement.

“You scared us half to death, Jim! I thought we were being haunted.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” my boyfriend laughed. “Admit it, this is way more entertaining than baby Jim in a bathtub.”

For a moment, Eleanor just stared at him, her lips pressed tight. Then, to everyone’s relief, she started laughing. It was the kind of laughter that shook her shoulders and made her wipe tears from her eyes.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding up her hands. “You win. But you’re sorting out that entire album tomorrow!”

“Deal,” Jim said, still grinning.

As the laughter died down, Jim turned to me, his expression sheepish.

“So, Lizzie, welcome to the family?” he said.

I couldn’t stop laughing. It was ridiculous, yes, but it also showed me something about Jim. He wasn’t just clever. He knew how to stand up for himself in the funniest, most unexpected ways.

This family wasn’t perfect, but they were wholesome, and they were real. And I adored that.

“Come on, it’s time for ice cream cones with all the toppings,” Harold said. “Jim, for pranking us, you do the scooping!”

That night, as we said our goodbyes, Eleanor gave me a warm hug.

“I hope you’ll come back for Christmas, my dear,” she said, her eyes shining.

I glanced at Jim and smirked.

“I will,” I said. “But only if the photos are ghost-free.”

Eleanor laughed, and Jim groaned. “You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”

“Never,” I said, slipping my hand into his.

“But I think I’ll sage the house, just in case,” Eleanor said seriously.

As we drove home, turkey hats tucked into the backseat, I couldn’t help but think—I love this goofy, chaotic family already.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

Priest Conducting Funeral Service for Wealthy Woman Leaned over Her Coffin – He Was Stunned to the Core by What He Saw

When Father Michael is conducting a funeral service for a woman, he notices an oddly shaped birthmark on her neck, exactly like his own. What comes next is a journey of self-discovery through the grieving process. Will Father Michael get the answers he so desperately wants to find?

The cathedral was silent, veiled in the heavy air of loss. Shadows from towering candles flickered along the marble floor as mourners dressed in black filled the pews, their heads bowed in reverence.

Eleanor, known throughout the community as a generous but reserved woman, had left behind both a sizable fortune and an enduring mystery.

Father Michael took a deep breath, the weight of yet another funeral pressing on him as he approached her casket. He’d never met Eleanor in person, yet something about her presence had always seemed familiar, almost hauntingly so.

As he moved closer, a strange compulsion stopped him. It was something that he couldn’t explain.

He paused, then leaned in, bowing his head to begin the prayer. But as he did, his gaze drifted to her neck, and he froze.

Just behind her ear, a small, purplish birthmark stood out against her pale skin. It was almost shaped like a plum, the same shape and color as the one he had carried his whole life.

“How?” he muttered. “What does this mean?”

A chill shot through him, his hand reaching up to press against his neck. He was well aware that everyone was looking at him, but still, he couldn’t help himself.

Read the full story here.

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.