My parents’ house reeked of rotten eggs for weeks. We blamed trash, spoiled food, even the drains. Cleaned everything, called a plumber—nothing. The stench came and went, giving Mom headaches and driving us from rooms. Air freshener only worsened it.
One night, I dreamed of my late grandfather. He stood in the hallway, young and calm, and said: “Go into the garage. Behind the shelf.”
I woke with a pounding heart but couldn’t shake his words. The smell was unbearable that day. That evening, I entered the garage—air thick, odor choking. I dragged the heavy shelf aside, metal screeching.
There: a jagged crack in an old gas line, hissing faintly.
We called the gas company. The tech said the “rotten egg” scent was added mercaptan—a warning. “You were lucky,” he warned. “Could’ve been catastrophic.”
Repairs done, the smell vanished instantly.
Coincidence? Or Grandpa watching over us? I’ll never know. But now, any odd smell in the house—I check immediately.
