Here are the rewritten versions of your stories in fluent, natural English while keeping the original meaning intact:
“When I opened the suitcase, I fell backward and screamed”
Our new house had previously belonged to a ferry boat captain and his family. The former owners asked us to clear out anything they’d left behind. “We’re going to find a body,” I told my husband as we looked at the mountains of stuff piled in the den, garage, and attic.
After a year of remodeling, I finally got around to sorting through the sheds. Most of it was rotting junk—mouse-chewed baseball caps, an old wooden bat, cassette tapes, and a huge suitcase. When I opened the suitcase, I stumbled back and screamed. My husband and neighbor came running up the driveway. Inside was what looked like a body in two pieces: a head of hair, arms, hands, and a torso in one half, and legs in track pants and sneakers in the other. Both parts were wearing an Adidas tracksuit.
We leaned in for a closer look. It turned out to be a life-sized resuscitation dummy, likely used for training ferry crews in first aid. My husband stared at me, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “I told you so,” I said.
—BL, Washington, US
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“They were perfectly, disgustingly beautiful”
I moved into the house in 2006, but it took me nearly a decade to properly explore the loft. It was partially floored, but I needed to finish it to make an art studio for my studies.
At first glance, the loft seemed empty—until I found a plastic bag tucked into the rafters. Inside were about ten pairs of worn-out 1970s-style Y-front underwear. The discovery was equal parts amusing and revolting. One pair had a “Half Way Inn” logo; another, once white, had a grimy brown stain. I kept the four best pairs and displayed them in my studio. Most people would find them disgusting, but I was weirdly fascinated—they were perfectly, disgustingly beautiful.
A few years later, I started dating. My boyfriend didn’t get my obsession with the underwear—he’s very conventional, the opposite of me. When we decided to move in together, he made it clear: it was him or the pants. I seriously considered hiding them.
—Oonagh, Angus, UK
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“Our discovery explained the guilt-ridden prayer-meeting notes”
A few years ago, my husband and I bought a house from a couple. During the first viewing, the wife wore a huge gold cross and took charge while her husband lingered in the garage.
After they moved out, we found a Bible on a garage shelf with a folded prayer-meeting note inside. It belonged to the husband of the cross-wearing former owner. On it, he had written: “Why am I at this prayer meeting today?” and scribbled underneath: “Because I always feel guilty.”
Months later, we noticed a blackbird flying in and out of the garage, building a nest. Curious if there were eggs, my partner climbed a ladder to check. Next to the nest sat a smartphone. When we charged it, a ransomware notice popped up—naming the prayer-meeting husband as the owner. Being tech-savvy, we removed the notice and found the browser open to a page featuring photos of older women with lots of body hair. Suddenly, his guilty prayer notes made sense.
—Anonymous
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“Two weeks after the dog ate the mystery meat, my mum got a phone call”
In my 20s, with a newborn, I moved back into my mum’s rental flat. The previous tenant, another new mother, had only lived there six months but left her mark—their dogs had chewed up the sofa cushions…
(Note: The last story cuts off mid-sentence. If you’d like me to complete it, please provide the rest of the text!)Here are the rewritten stories in a more natural and fluent English style:
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The Mystery Meat
It was a real mess while cleaning. I found a plastic bag in the freezer that looked like a lump of liver. Being vegetarian, I don’t know much about cuts of meat. We had a dog at the time, so we put the mystery meat out in the garden, and he ate it. We didn’t think much of it—until two weeks later, when my mum got a call. It was the previous tenant, who said she’d accidentally left her placenta behind and wanted it back. Mum didn’t tell her the dog had eaten it—she just said it had been thrown away. You wouldn’t expect something that important to be left in the freezer!
— Melissa, Pembrokeshire, UK
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An Unwanted Surprise
In 1986, I bought my first flat. While cleaning out the fitted wardrobes, I found a loose plastic bag tucked under a drawer. I opened it and saw what looked like a man’s… well, you know. I was right—it was a used, battery-operated vibrator. Thank goodness I was wearing cleaning gloves.
My elderly mum was with me when I found it. I said, “Oh, that can go in the bin.” Not knowing what it was, she replied, “She might not realize she left it—maybe you should call her.” After some back-and-forth, I showed her. She stared for a moment, then gasped, “Oh good God! Your father can take it to the tip.” I stuffed it into a black bag with other rubbish. Dad never knew what was inside.
— Sally, Wiltshire, UK
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Explosive Discovery
In the early 1970s, I moved into an old farmhouse with my wife and her daughter. The previous owner had a terrible temper—if we said anything he didn’t like, he’d shout and shake his fist. He terrified my solicitor, so I avoided dealing with him as much as possible.
When we finally moved in, he still had animals and belongings in the outbuildings. After he cleared out, I checked the place and found an old cardboard box in a dimly lit corner. It was labeled “Nobel”—the name of a nearby explosives factory. I had a bad feeling about what was inside. Sure enough, there were three or four sticks of explosives and detonators, all looking brand new.
I’d never handled explosives before, so I called the police. It took them three hours to find me. When they arrived, they took one look and said, “Yep, those are explosives,” then left. The next day, the bomb squad showed up—in a Morris Traveller, of all things—to remove them. One officer came back grinning. Later, I learned the explosives had become unstable and could’ve gone off with a nasty bang.
— Alan, Wales, UK
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The Left-Behind Suit
In 1996, I moved into a house with my daughter. The previous owners—a heavyset, eccentric couple—left in such a hurry that they forgot some things. While cleaning out a bedroom cupboard, I found a flesh-colored rubber sex suit for two, stuffed back into its packaging (though clearly not unused).
It was a bizarre item, complete with instructions on how to… well, rub together. Vibrators are one thing, but a full-body suit? Given their size, I’m not sure how they even got into it, let alone out of it. It must’ve cut off circulation! I left it out for the bin men, but I worried they’d think it was mine.
— Anonymous
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Each story keeps its original meaning while sounding more natural and conversational. Let me know if you’d like any further refinements!Here’s a more natural and fluent version of your text while keeping the original meaning intact:
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They’re always asking for a tip, but who knows why. Maybe they want hush money.
NT, London, UK
‘I laughed out loud in shock and disbelief’
Twenty years ago, I bought a lovely home, but the inside was a mess. One day, while scrubbing behind the toilet, I found a small, crumpled package hidden out of sight—a handkerchief tied around something. My heart raced. Could it be jewels?
Sadly, no. When I unfolded it, I gasped at five long, yellow-brown teeth filled with gold. I burst out laughing, equal parts surprised and horrified. The estate agent gave me the previous owners’ forwarding address, so I wrote to them about my discovery—but never got a reply. I kept the teeth in a glass jar, thinking I’d deal with them later.
Years later, after selling the house, I spotted a gold-buying stall at a shopping center. I knew exactly what to sell. I dumped the teeth on the counter, and the cashier didn’t even blink. “Your father’s teeth?” she asked. “God, no!” I said, horrified. She crushed them with pliers to extract the gold, weighed the bits, and offered me A$60. I refused—it felt like a rip-off. To this day, the remains sit in that jar.
Silda, Sydney, Australia
‘The previous owners left pennies on all the window sashes…’
‘The pennies weren’t for good luck—they were ghost repellent’
I was thrilled when my family moved into an old Victorian house on Long Island. After settling in, I noticed pennies placed on every window sash. Assuming it was a kind gesture from the previous owners, I took it as a blessing for our new home.
Then, years later, as I was getting ready for bed, I heard a chaotic banging in the attic—like someone stomping and throwing furniture. My husband checked but found nothing: no intruder, no mess. That’s when the word “poltergeist” crossed my mind. I wasn’t scared—I actually liked the idea of sharing our home with a ghost.
Now, I think those pennies weren’t for good luck but to keep spirits away. It’s still a mystery to me.
Nancy, New York, US
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