Let me tell ya how I actually figured out that French curse mystery everyone whispers about. See, I used to think all that “France has bad luck” stuff was nonsense – you know, just people making excuses for things going wrong. But last summer changed everything.
The Bumpy Start
I flew to Lyon to visit Marie, my cousin who married a French guy. Plane landed smooth, but oh man, things got weird fast. First day, Marie’s dishwasher straight up exploded – water everywhere, soaked half her kitchen. I laughed it off, blamed old pipes. Next morning, her car just wouldn’t start. Dead battery? Sure, coincidence. But later that afternoon, her kid slipped on nothing in the hallway and broke his wrist.
Getting My Hands Dirty
That’s when my brain pinged. Too much bad stuff too close. Started asking the neighbors. Old Madame Dubois practically crossed herself spillin’ tea. “It’s the soil here, poisoned,” she whispered, pointin’ at the cracked ground near her roses. Thought she was nuts, but grabbed my shovel anyway.
Right in Marie’s backyard, under that sad-lookin’ cherry tree, I dug. Felt stupid at first – just dirt and rocks. Took me three sweaty hours. Then thunk. My shovel hit something hard. Cleared the dirt away… boom. Old bones. Not animal either. Human-looking. Leg bone, kinda twisted. Even found a rusty medallion thing with faded writing stuck near it.
Putting Pieces Together
Washed the medallion carefully. Barely made it out – “Verbotenes Land” or somethin’ German? Totally threw me. Grabbed my laptop, searched like crazy. Dug into town records Marie found online. Turns out, the farmhouse land was German-occupied trenches in WWI. Found archived soldier diaries talking about ancient pits used for executions… right where her backyard sits now.
- Dishwasher flood? Old water lines sitting directly above that burial pit.
- Car trouble? Battery corrosion patterns matched soil samples I took near the bones – weird acidic levels.
- Kid fall? That spot in the hallway felt colder, like a draft? Turned out subtle subsidence from old tunnels beneath.
Proof wasn’t just one thing. It was the gross combo – the bones, the diary notes, the freaky soil tests showing unusual lead/metal traces messing with electronics AND health, even how local crops always seemed patchy. The “curse” was the ground itself, heavy with suffering and contaminants.
Why Bother Digging?
Honestly? Because Marie wanted to sell the house. Realtors shrugged off her bad luck stories. Builders refused to fix anything solidly. They all treated her like she was crazy. I remembered my grandpa – rest his soul – tellin’ me years ago that “weird dirt makes weird lives” after his farm failed near an old battlefield. Stuck with me. Had to prove she wasn’t nuts, just unlucky enough to buy poisoned land history forgot. Now? The proof sits bagged in acid-free boxes… and Marie’s suing the clueless property developer who covered it all up with concrete. Figures.