A family is looking for answers after a 69-year-old woman, Josefina Montesdeoca, was found dead in a manhole behind their home in Harris County, Texas.
Josefina was reported missing on September 13. Her daughter, Stephanie Lopez, said they searched for her around FM-1960 and Kuykendahl but couldn’t find her. Stephanie shared her mother’s phone location, but it seemed to be off, so they contacted the Harris County Sheriff’s Office to report her missing.
A deputy asked a few questions, gave them a case number, and left. When the family didn’t hear back the next day, they called the missing persons unit, only to find out it was closed on weekends. A search and rescue group wouldn’t help because they needed the sheriff’s approval.
Luckily, friends from church helped search on Sunday and quickly found Josefina. Stephanie recalled the moment, saying, “They found her! I thought she was sitting up, not in that hole.” She believes her mother was praying at the bottom of the manhole, hoping to be found.
The uncovered manhole was on the property of an apartment complex behind their home. There is a lot of overgrown land between the complex and their home. Stephanie’s husband said the man who found her had to move grass to see her body.
They are still unsure why Josefina was in that area, as she usually didn’t go there. Since her death, “do not enter” and “private property” signs have been put up, and the manhole has been covered.
During their search, the family also found an unfinished pool and rescued a stranded dog, naming it Joseph after Josefina, who loved dogs.
ABC13 is trying to find out who is responsible for the manhole’s maintenance. The medical examiner has not yet determined the cause of Josefina’s death, and the family has been told it could take months for answers.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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