She was certain she’d found a rug… but something inside was moving…

She pulled on oversized rubber boots and stepped outside. The sky was lightening, the air filled with the scent of pine. She remembered a clearing over the hill where mushrooms grew—worth checking in the morning.

Approaching the spot where the man left the bundle, she expected to see a roll of roofing felt or heavy plastic. Instead, a neatly folded rug lay on the ground. Not just any rug—one that once adorned wealthy homes.

“Wow… Persian style, maybe. So beautiful, heavy. Too bad it’s not for the roof,” Sarah noted with disappointment, but then added, “Maybe take it? Fold it in half—it’d be a better mattress than sawdust sacks.”

She warmed to the idea and hurried to the bundle. She tried lifting it—too heavy. So she cautiously tugged at the edge to unroll it. Then she heard it—someone inside was groaning!

Sarah, who’d seen all sorts on the streets, felt fear for the first time, her knees trembling. She stepped closer and shouted:

“Who’s there?”

Silence. Then another groan, and a faint female voice:

“It’s me… Margaret Peterson…”

Struggling to pull the rug’s edge, Sarah finally freed the woman. She tumbled out, trying to roll over, and groaned softly.

“Hold on, I’ll help!” Sarah shouted, rushing to her.

When the rug was fully unrolled, a small, thin woman in decent clothes lay on the ground. A bruise marked her temple. Looking around in confusion, she said:

“So where did he bring me? A dump? Just like that…”

Silently, Sarah helped her up and slowly led her to the cabin. Seating her on a chair, Sarah changed into cleaner clothes while the woman, now realizing she was safe, quietly sobbed:

“So I’m alive… He tried to bury me alive and ruined his favorite rug…”

Sarah put on a kettle, pulled some herbs from the cabinet, brewed strong, warm tea, and set a mug in front of her guest.

“I’m Sarah Johnson,” she introduced herself. “Former high school English teacher.”

“You’re what, girl?” the woman said, surprised, eyeing Sarah’s short haircut and men’s clothes.

“Yeah, it just happened…” Sarah sighed. “Came to Atlanta, wanted to work as a nanny. But at the bus station, I got robbed. Everything: bag, money, ID…”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Margaret asked sternly…