Chapter 4: The Curse Comes Home

The road at night seemed endless, but Aunt Marsha’s steps grew faster and faster.

The only sound was the thud of her boots against the muddy path and my own ragged breathing. The moon cast our shadows long and strange across the cornrows.

Suddenly, fear gripped me. I struggled to get off her back.

I clawed at her shoulders, kicking my legs, desperate to get away. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the cicadas.

She yelped as I pulled her hair, and let go, dropping me to the ground.

I landed hard on my backside, grass and dirt clinging to my pajamas. For a moment, I just lay there, stunned.

I panicked and tried to run, but she grabbed me again.

Her grip was vice-tight, her fingers digging into my arm. I tried to twist free, but she was too strong.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you go back now, that heartless old woman will feed you to Thunderbird!”

The accusation stung, but it sounded all wrong—Grandma was the last person who’d ever hurt me.

I froze for a moment, quickly realizing she was lying.

I stared at her, trying to read her face in the moonlight, searching for any sign of truth.

Grandma feeding me to Thunderbird? That was the most ridiculous thing I’d heard all day.

Even half-delirious, I knew that was nonsense. Grandma would rather face the Thunderbird herself than put me in harm’s way.

Aunt Marsha saw I was still trying to escape. She grabbed my collar and pulled me close.

Her breath smelled of mint and desperation. I could see tears glistening in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked more lost than angry.

I had never seen her so serious. She stared at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

Her voice shook, raw and honest. She was hurting, too, maybe even more than I was.

“Ryan, listen to me—your grandma is not a good person. My two children were fed to Thunderbird because of her.”

The words hit like a slap. For a second, I didn’t know what to believe.

“Don’t blame me for refusing you earlier. I hate it. Why did my children have to die, but you get to live?”

“But the more I look at you, the more I think of my lost children. It hurts so much. Saving you now is like saving my own kids.”

Her voice broke, and she looked away, ashamed. I wanted to comfort her, but I was too scared to move.

Seeing my stunned face, her expression turned mournful, not like she was lying.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her shoulders slumping under invisible weight.

“Have you ever wondered why, when you saw Thunderbird earlier that night, your grandma didn’t take you and run, but left you in the house? Wasn’t it to let Thunderbird take you?”

Her words wormed their way into my mind. Had Grandma really left me as bait? Or had she truly tried to protect me?

My heart skipped a beat.

I remembered that Grandma only returned after Thunderbird had left. It did seem a little too coincidental...

For the first time, doubt crept in. I remembered the way Grandma’s eyes looked when she left, the urgency in her voice. I didn’t want to believe Aunt Marsha, but my hands started to shake anyway.

Aunt Marsha saw me hesitating and sighed heavily.

She seemed tired, like she’d been carrying this secret forever. Her next words were softer, almost pleading.

“Fine, it’s your choice. Go back or come with me—I’ll take you to town to hide for a while.”

She loosened her grip, letting her hand fall away. The night was still, except for the rustle of corn stalks.

The night wind howled.

It carried the scent of wet earth and distant rain, making the world feel impossibly big and cold. My teeth started to chatter.

I didn’t want to believe her. Since my parents took my little brother to the city, Grandma had raised me by herself.

She taught me how to bait a hook, make cornbread, and tell the difference between a barn owl and a screech owl by sound alone. I couldn’t just forget all that because of one wild story.

I remembered how many times she ate the burnt toast and saved the bacon for me.

She’d always given me the best, even when there wasn’t much to go around. The memory warmed me, even as fear gnawed at my belly.

I remembered all of this. Grandma would never harm me.

She was the only family I had left who never let me down. I hugged myself, fighting back tears.

But I was afraid if I said I didn’t believe her, Aunt Marsha would turn violent.

I kept my head down, eyes glued to my muddy sneakers, hoping she wouldn’t notice how scared I was.

Just as I hesitated, Grandma’s voice called from far away.

It carried through the corn like a lifeline. “Ryan!” It was hoarse, desperate, the sound of someone searching for something precious.

“Ryan...”

Excited, I turned to answer, but Aunt Marsha clamped a hand over my mouth and dragged me into a cornfield.

The corn leaves sliced at my bare arms, and every rustle sounded like talons scraping bone. She moved fast, ducking between the rows, glancing back over her shoulder.

I tried to struggle, but soon I didn’t dare move.

She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes wide with terror. I could hear something huge moving through the field behind us.

In the moonlight, I saw in horror a Thunderbird as large as an adult, tiptoeing, stretching its neck, searching around.

Its silhouette loomed above the corn, feathers shimmering with that eerie green glow. The night was silent but for the rustle of its wings and the soft, uncanny mimicry of Grandma’s voice.

It crept closer, imitating Grandma’s voice, calling my name.

Hearing my own name, twisted and wrong, sent chills down my spine. I clung to Aunt Marsha’s arm, heart pounding.

As it passed right in front of us, I didn’t even dare to breathe.

We crouched low, hiding in the shadows, every muscle locked tight. The bird’s beak snapped at the air just inches from my head.

When it finally left, I realized I was sobbing uncontrollably from fear.

My body shook so hard my teeth rattled. Aunt Marsha squeezed my hand, trying to calm me, but her own fingers trembled.

Looking at Aunt Marsha, I saw anger and resentment in her eyes, but finally, only resignation.

She looked at me, lips trembling, then let out a long sigh, as if surrendering to fate.

“Fine, it’s fate. Thunderbird is ahead of us, blocking the way. Now we can only turn back and take it one step at a time.”

Her voice was tired, but she didn’t let go of my hand. We started back, moving slow and careful, like deer after the first shot of hunting season.

She gripped my hand tightly. For a moment, I believed she hadn’t lied to me.

Her grip was warm, and I wanted to trust her, just for a second.

But I still warned myself not to trust her completely.

I kept my guard up, watching her out of the corner of my eye, ready to run if I had to.

Aunt Marsha took me back to the house, and Uncle Randy slapped her without warning.

The sound rang out like a pistol shot, and everyone froze. Aunt Marsha’s cheek reddened, but she didn’t fight back.

“You want to give the kid a heart attack? What the hell were you thinking, Marsha?”

His voice shook, raw with anger and worry. I’d never seen him so upset.

In front of everyone, Uncle Randy demanded Aunt Marsha apologize to Grandma.

The whole room went silent, even the cousins held their breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Aunt Marsha’s face went pale. She pointed at Uncle Randy, her voice trembling.

Her finger shook, but her voice was shrill, desperate. The years of grief and anger boiled up and spilled over.

“Why should I apologize to her? My two children died because of that old woman. Have you forgotten?”

“If she hadn’t told my kids to play in the woods behind the house, would they have disappeared?”

The accusation hung in the air, as heavy as a thundercloud. No one dared look at Grandma.

Hearing this, Grandma’s face darkened. She pulled me over, checked me carefully, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She brushed dirt from my cheeks, her hands gentle but her jaw clenched. She kept her eyes on me, like she was afraid I might vanish if she looked away.

“Marsha, I’ve said it so many times. I only told them about the rabbits in the woods because it was fun. I never thought anything would happen.”

Her voice was thick with guilt. I saw her hands shake as she wiped her eyes with her apron.

“All these years, you still don’t believe me. Then I won’t stay here to bother you. I’ll take Ryan and leave.”

She stood tall, ready to go, even though her hands trembled. I knew she meant it—she’d walk all the way to town in her house slippers if she had to.

No one blamed Grandma.

Everyone hung their heads. Even Aunt Marsha, fierce as she was, fell silent.

Instead, hearing that she planned to take sick me away before dawn, the uncles and cousins grew uneasy, all calling out, “Aunt Carol...”

Their voices were full of concern. I saw one cousin pull out his phone, like maybe he could call for help but not sure who to call.

They looked at Uncle Randy. He frowned, then suddenly slapped Aunt Marsha again.

He did it with tears in his eyes, his voice cracking. The family had never seen him cry before.

“If anyone leaves, it’s you. Get out!”

His voice was hoarse, final. He pointed at the door, not backing down.

Aunt Marsha’s face turned red, then white, then green.

She looked ready to scream, but no words came. Her hands shook as she grabbed her purse and coat.

Tears trembled on her lashes. She stared at Uncle Randy in disbelief.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a strangled sob.

“Don’t regret this!” she spat, then left without looking back, slamming the door behind her.

The slam echoed through the house, rattling the glass in the old china cabinet. We all watched as her shadow disappeared down the driveway.

Everyone was stunned. Someone asked, “It’s not dawn yet—will she be all right out there?”

A hush fell over the room, broken only by the ticking clock. Someone fiddled with the TV remote, turning the volume down so low we could hear the wind rattle the storm windows.

Uncle Randy puffed out his cheeks and muttered, “What’s the worst that could happen? At most, Thunderbird will get her.”

He tried to sound tough, but his hands shook as he pulled a worn ball cap off a hook and headed for the porch.

Still, after saying that, he steadied himself, but couldn’t help worrying. He quickly followed her out.

The door creaked shut behind him, and we listened to his boots on the gravel fade into silence.

But they were gone for a long time. As the sky slowly brightened, neither had returned.

We sat in a circle in the living room, huddled under quilts, the air thick with worry and the lingering smell of wood smoke.

Everyone sat in the living room, eyes fixed on the door. Gradually, unease grew, and people began rolling cigarettes and smoking.

The smoke curled lazily to the ceiling, and no one said a word. I watched Grandma’s hands twist in her lap, the veins like riverbeds under her thin skin.

I leaned against Grandma, thinking of how frantic Aunt Marsha had been when she hid me from Thunderbird, and felt uneasy too.

I wondered what it meant to be safe, and who I could trust. Grandma patted my hair, humming an old hymn under her breath.

Suddenly, the main door was slammed by something—bang!

Everyone jumped. Coffee sloshed in mugs, a pack of cigarettes fell to the floor. The hair on my arms stood straight up.

The uncles and cousins grabbed their shovels and stood up, tense.

Their faces were set, jaws clenched, knuckles white on shovel handles. The cousins crowded behind the armchair, eyes wide.

Bang, bang—the pounding continued.

It sounded like something huge was trying to break the door down. Grandma stood up, pushing me behind her, her voice low and calm.

Grandma nervously pushed me behind her.

She squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever was out there. I pressed my face into the back of her shirt, heart thudding.

Soon, the main door was forced open. The uncles stubbed out their cigarettes, raised their shovels, and rushed forward.

The door crashed back on its hinges, moonlight flooding the room. The cousins screamed, and the air was thick with fear and anticipation.

But it was Uncle Randy, poking his head in from outside, grinning at everyone.

He was covered in mud and sweat, his eyes wild but triumphant. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, beaming from ear to ear.

“Come help!”

He waved a hand, motioning for the others to come outside. I could hear something heavy being dragged across the porch.

When everyone saw the enormous thing he was dragging, the mood changed instantly.

We crowded around, mouths open in shock, as Uncle Randy heaved a creature the size of a small horse onto the porch—a Thunderbird, its feathers slick with mud, neck twisted at an odd angle.

The uncles cheered, crowding around in disbelief. After hearing how Uncle Randy had strangled the Thunderbird, they showered him with praise.

Someone clapped him on the back, others whooped and hollered. One of the cousins ran inside for a Polaroid, eager to get proof before the neighbors showed up.

Uncle Randy’s face was flushed, as if he’d just finished a great feat.

He wiped his brow with his sleeve, grinning bigger than ever. For a moment, all the fear and worry was replaced by pride.

He was ecstatic. “Today, we feast on Thunderbird!”

Laughter broke out, the kind that comes after surviving a tornado, wild and relieved. Someone joked about deep-frying the drumsticks for the church potluck.

I stared at the Thunderbird’s corpse on the ground, dazed.

It didn’t look quite right—its feathers dull, its eyes glassy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still wrong.

Wait a minute—the Thunderbird I saw earlier wasn’t this one...

From somewhere out in the fields, a low, familiar voice started counting again—one, two, three... and the night pressed in close, waiting.