Chapter 1: The Demon Baby Is Born

A piercing scream from the midwife ripped through the night, jolting everyone out on the porch awake. It was sharp and raw, the kind of sound that makes your skin prickle and your heart stutter—like ice water poured down your back. For a split second, nobody breathed.

It was the kind of scream that cuts through the muggy Southern night, making the crickets hush. Even the bugs knew something was wrong. The porch light buzzed, casting jittery shadows. The neighbors, arms crossed, worry etched on their faces, all went dead silent. Someone dropped their mug of coffee; it shattered on the steps, but not a soul moved. You could feel dread creeping up your spine, cold as a snake under the door.

We all held our breath. Then the door creaked open, and the midwife stepped out, hands shaking.

Her apron was streaked with blood, and she wouldn't look at anyone. She stood there for a second, breathing hard, her face white as a sheet. The screen door banged shut behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. For a moment, I thought she might faint right there on the steps.

She told us the mother couldn't be saved, and she shoved the baby into my mother-in-law's arms, like the baby was burning her hands. As if she couldn't stand to hold it another second.

The baby was bundled in an old pink blanket, the midwife's hands trembling so bad the fabric almost slipped. She muttered something—maybe a prayer, maybe a curse—before turning away, shoulders hunched, vanishing into the shadows at the edge of the porch. You could feel the air pressing down, like a storm was about to hit.

My mother-in-law stared down at the baby, and before she could even process that it was a girl, she fainted dead away in terror. I’d never seen her so scared.

She toppled backwards, arms slack, the baby nearly tumbling from her grasp. Tyler lunged forward just in time, catching both before they hit the porch boards. The neighbors gasped, a couple of women crossing themselves, murmuring under their breath. Someone called for water, but not a soul moved. My heart stopped.

A girl. Of course.

Her skin was ghostly pale, so white you could see the blue veins underneath. Even the wispy hair on her head was nearly white. Her eyes were closed, lips moving as if she were smacking them, but she didn't cry. She looked more like a porcelain doll than a real baby. Too still. Too quiet.

The hush was so deep, you could hear the screen door creak with the breeze. Tyler held her up to the porch light, and for a second, everyone just stared. There was something uncanny about her stillness, the way her tiny chest barely moved. Even old Mrs. Harris just stared, mouth open.

Even a china doll would at least have two rosy cheeks painted on. But this child had no color at all.

It was as if all the life had been drained out of her, leaving only a fragile shell. The baby smacked her lips again, a tiny, hollow sound. Someone muttered, "Lord have mercy," and nobody said a thing.

“This kid’s a bad omen! She killed her mother at birth, scared her grandma half to death—she’s a curse. We can’t keep her!”

The words came from old Mrs. Harris, her voice shaking, but she made sure everyone heard. A ripple of nervous agreement moved through the crowd. In a town like Maple Heights, superstition stuck like kudzu—once it took root, it never let go. The front porch felt colder, the shadows thicker.

My father-in-law decided to bury the child that very night. Just like that.

Frank Brooks was a man who didn't waste time on talk. He set his jaw, grabbed his old work boots, and stalked off toward the shed to fetch a shovel. We just stared. Nobody moved. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Early the next morning, I was shaken awake by my husband, Tyler, his eyes rimmed red, voice shaky.

His hands were cold, his voice rough with panic. "Megan, wake up. Something's wrong with Dad." The sun was barely up, but the urgency in his voice made my heart pound. I scrambled into jeans and a hoodie, not even bothering with shoes, and followed him out into the gray dawn.

His words echoed in my head as we ran down the muddy path behind the house, feet slipping on dew-slick grass. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Mud. Woodsmoke. Something was wrong. The air was thick with the smell of river mud and the distant scent of woodsmoke from someone’s breakfast.

We rushed to the riverside at the east end of Maple Heights, where my father-in-law lay stiff and cold on the muddy bank. He was as pale as that baby.

Frank's body looked impossibly small, sprawled on the riverbank among tangled reeds. Funny, it was the same spot where the boys used to skip rocks as kids. The sheriff's deputy was already there, hat in hand, face grim. People gathered in a loose circle, whispering, eyes darting from Frank to the river and back again.

“Frank, how could you just leave me like this? What am I supposed to do now?” My mother-in-law, who’d fainted the night before, collapsed by Frank’s body, sobbing uncontrollably. She broke down hard.

Her cries echoed across the water, raw and ragged, rocking, hair all wild. She clung to his arm, rocking back and forth, hair falling loose around her face. A couple of women tried to pull her away, but she wouldn’t let go. The rest of us just stood there, helpless.

Tyler and his older brother, Caleb, tried to pull her away, both of them crying. I rushed over, too.

Caleb’s face was streaked with tears, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to be strong for his mom. Tyler’s hands shook as he tried to comfort her, his own eyes red and swollen. I just knelt there, useless.

As I got closer, I saw Frank’s eyes wide open, mouth agape, his face twisted in terror and disbelief. I couldn’t look away.

It was a look I'd never seen before—pure, unfiltered horror. The kind that makes you believe in all kinds of things. I felt my stomach twist, bile rising in my throat. The sheriff quietly covered Frank's face with his jacket, but the image burned into my mind.

“Dad used to take us to the river to swim and fish. He was the best swimmer in town. How could he drown?”

Caleb’s voice cracked as he spoke, looking at the water as if it might give him answers. The river was calm, barely a ripple on its surface. Still as glass. A couple of old-timers shook their heads, muttering about how Frank was “born in water” and “could outswim any man in town.”

“Yeah, Dad, what happened? You can’t even rest easy now...”

Tyler’s words trailed off. He knelt by Frank’s side, tears streaming down his cheeks. The river seemed to swallow the sound. We all just listened to the wind in the trees.

Crying, Tyler reached out to close his father’s eyes, just wanting to help. As his hand brushed over, Frank’s eyes closed for a second. But then, they snapped open again, bloodshot and wide.

Everyone gasped—someone dropped their coffee, and a woman shrieked. It was like the air itself had frozen. I couldn’t breathe.

We all jumped back, hearts pounding.

Caleb nearly fell into the mud, scrambling away from the body. For a second, everything spun. Even the sheriff took a step back, crossing himself and muttering under his breath.

After that, we all lost it.

The wailing grew louder, echoing off the riverbank. Everyone felt it. Even the men who never showed emotion wiped their eyes. The Brooks family was falling apart.