Chapter 3: The Shadow Ritual

A fire pit burned in the yard, a woman in a vintage dress squatting beside it. She moved with easy grace, the dress riding high on her thighs, firelight dancing on her skin.

There was something haunting about her—like a movie star from an old black-and-white flick, beautiful and out of reach.

She looked just like Aunt Martha, only younger and stunning. Was it a trick of the light? Or did Aunt Martha have a daughter?

Maybe it was some old-money ritual. My hands itched for my phone, but it was still dead.

I couldn’t help but stare at her legs, feeling guilty and exhilarated at once. Life on the edge of town is lonely; beautiful strangers are rare.

I sighed, wedged socks in the door, and went back to burning cash. The door held. I tossed more bills into the flames, trying to keep my eyes off the window.

With this money, I could buy a house in town, a car, maybe finally get a girlfriend—someone like her. My imagination spun wild.

But something was off. My head felt foggy, like I’d pulled an all-nighter. I didn’t feel anything—not even a flicker of excitement.

Usually, I’d be blushing or awkward around a woman like that. But now, just numb. Like my whole body was stuck in neutral.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Maybe I was getting sick, or the fumes were getting to me.

A loud bang startled me—the door had flung open, slamming into the wall. The socks were useless. Curtains fluttered, candle flame danced. I reached for my hoodie, suddenly freezing.

A fierce gust blew in, making the fire pit flicker. Ashes swirled, stinging my eyes. I staggered back, coughing.

My legs tingled, muscles tight. Every instinct screamed: close the door.

But my body ached, stiff and old. I forced myself up, step by step. Maybe I’d forgotten to close the window?

No—the window was sealed tight, security bars gleaming. But the fire pit outside still burned, the woman still there.

I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the floor—something was wrong. My back hunched, pain shooting through my spine. My shadow was becoming more and more hunched, twisted like an old man’s.

Above my shadow, another outline rose—a hunched old lady, then slowly straightening into a graceful, beautiful woman. My scalp prickled with dread.

I looked behind me—nothing but the fire pit and the money. Where did the extra shadow come from?

My legs barely responded. The wind died, silence heavy. The money in the fire pit burned out. My body slowly regained strength, my back straightened, but the woman’s shadow began to hunch again.

I thought of the beautiful woman outside, and my body flushed with heat. I staggered to the window. The fire pit still burned, but now the woman was old Aunt Martha again—struggling, every inch an old lady.

She looked up, eyes watery and shrewd, and gave me a kindly smile: “Why aren’t you burning anymore?”

My legs nearly gave out. I gripped the bars, breath coming in shallow gasps.

Aunt Martha tottered toward me. Only the security window separated us. I wanted to run, but my body refused.

I realized, too late, this was no ordinary job. As the money burned, I grew old and Aunt Martha grew young.

"Auntie, I don’t want to burn anymore. Can I give you the money back?" My voice was barely a whisper.

Her smile froze, eyes narrowing. "Why won’t you burn anymore?"

"I’m just scared. The more I burn, the more frightened I get."

Aunt Martha stared, then finally sighed: "Fine, forget it. Go ahead and bring the money back to me."

I hobbled across the room, desperate to scoop up the remaining bills. My hands shook so badly the stacks nearly slipped from my grip.

At that moment, Aunt Martha blew a cold, fetid gust onto my shoulder. I turned, confused. “What’s wrong?”

A wave of dizziness crashed over me. My whole body went limp—I collapsed to the ground, shivering uncontrollably.