Chapter 2: The Curse Takes Hold

“Demon child! It’s the demon baby’s revenge!” someone shouted, voice shaking.

It was Mrs. Harris again, her hands fluttering like frightened birds. A few folks nodded, faces white. The word "demon" seemed to hang in the air, thick as the morning fog.

Aunt Lisa rushed out from the crowd, her face pale with shock. Guess she wanted to look her best for a haunting.

“Aunt Lisa, what are you talking about?” my mother-in-law sobbed, confused. She could barely get the words out.

“That baby girl your daughter-in-law gave birth to yesterday—there’s something wrong with her!” Aunt Lisa steadied herself, took a breath, and went on, “Yesterday, I heard y’all were expecting, so like always, I said a prayer at home. I just had a feeling the child wouldn’t make it. But she lived. Somehow. I didn’t say anything then.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with guilt. Nobody said a word.

My mother-in-law looked petrified. She jerked away from me, eyes wild.

“Yesterday, the mother had a better chance to survive, but I felt bad for the Brooks family line, so I told the midwife to save the baby, not the mother...”

The confession came out in a rush, Aunt Lisa’s voice cracking. I’d never seen her cry before. She dabbed at her eyes, but the tears kept coming. The crowd shifted, uneasy, as if the ground itself might open up and swallow us all.

“No wonder, no wonder! That’s it!” Aunt Lisa interrupted. She sounded half-crazy herself.

Her words were sharp, desperate. She wrung her hands, glancing at the river, then at the baby in Tyler’s arms.

“This child shouldn’t have made it, and the mother shouldn’t have died. When the mother died, her anger stuck to the child. She might look alive, but she’s a vengeful spirit! That’s how Frank died... oh, Lord.”

Aunt Lisa’s voice trembled, thick with fear. I didn’t want to believe it. A few people crossed themselves, others whispered prayers. The sense of dread was almost physical, pressing down on all of us.

Aunt Lisa couldn’t go on, her face full of pity. She turned away, shoulders shaking. Someone put an arm around her, but she just shook her head, lost in her own head.

My mother-in-law turned ghost-white and collapsed. She went down hard.

Caleb caught her just before she hit the ground, lowering her gently onto the grass. Tyler looked at me, his eyes hollow. The silence was crushing. No one spoke; the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

Trying to keep my head, I asked the only question that mattered: I had to know.

“Dad drowned, so where’s the baby now?”

My voice was steadier than I felt. The question seemed to snap everyone out of their trance. People started to look real nervous.

The townsfolk helped search, digging up the woods, dredging the river. They looked all day but couldn’t find the baby. If Frank buried her, she should’ve been found. If not, where could a newborn go? Was she really some demon child, able to crawl or fly right after birth? It sounded crazy, but...

Men with lanterns and dogs combed the woods, shouting her name. Women searched the riverbank, calling for any sign. The sheriff organized a search party, but by sundown, there was nothing—no footprints, no blanket, no crying. It just kept getting worse.

The baby’s disappearance and Frank’s strange death made the whole town uneasy. At first, everyone was eager to help, but soon, folks started making excuses to leave, not wanting to get involved in whatever curse was going around. Nobody wanted to catch it.

By dusk, the crowd had thinned to just a handful of neighbors, their faces drawn and anxious. Someone muttered about "not tempting fate," and before long, even the bravest souls drifted back to their homes, doors locked tight. Can’t say I blamed them. The Brooks house felt like a haunted place.

That night, my mother-in-law, Caleb, Tyler, and I gathered in Aunt Lisa’s living room. No one wanted to be alone. Not after everything that happened.

The room was cramped and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood polish. The only light came from a table lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadows everywhere. We sat close, as if proximity alone could ward off the darkness pressing in outside.

“Aunt Lisa, if what you say is true, only you can help us.” My mother-in-law’s face was streaked with tears as she begged. She reached for Aunt Lisa’s hand, squeezing it so tight her knuckles turned white.

Her voice was thin, desperate. She begged. Tyler and Caleb sat on either side of her, silent and tense.

Aunt Lisa looked troubled. I’d never seen her look so tired.

She glanced at the crosses on her wall, then at the Bible on her lap. Her lips moved in silent prayer, and for a moment, she seemed older than her years. The weight of the town’s fear pressed down on her, too.

“Linda, it’s not that I won’t help, but I did another prayer tonight. The demon baby’s anger is too strong—even I don’t know if I can stop it.” That scared me more than anything.

Her words sent a fresh wave of panic through the room. We all felt it. Caleb’s hands clenched into fists, and Tyler stared at the floor. My mother-in-law began to sob again, shoulders shaking.

“If you’re not sure, that means there’s still a chance, right?” I jumped in, desperate for hope. “Aunt Lisa, please help us, or tell us what to do and we’ll try ourselves.” I was desperate.

My voice was louder than I intended, echoing in the small room. Aunt Lisa looked at me, her eyes searching mine for something—strength, maybe, or just the will to keep going.

Aunt Lisa didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched. I held my breath.

The silence stretched. The old clock on the mantel ticked, each second louder than the last. Finally, Aunt Lisa let out a long, weary sigh, as if she’d been carrying this burden for years.

After a long while, she finally sighed. “Since I’m involved, I’ll try.” We all knew it wasn’t over.

Relief washed over the room, though it was tinged with fear. Aunt Lisa squared her shoulders, as if bracing herself for a storm she knew she couldn’t outrun.

The four of us stayed up all night, following Aunt Lisa’s instructions—taping up crosses and saying prayers throughout the house. The place looked like something out of a horror flick.

We taped handwritten verses over every doorway, propped mirrors on windowsills, and whispered prayers in every room. Tyler joked about it, but his laugh was hollow. Nobody was really laughing.

When Tyler and I placed the last few mirrors in the living room, dawn was breaking. We barely made it to morning.

The first rays of sunlight crept through the window, painting everything in pale gold. Tyler slumped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. We were bone-tired, nerves frayed from a night of whispered prayers and anxious glances at the clock.

“We’ve been up all night. Try to get some rest. No matter what happens, we can’t fall apart—we’ve still got funerals to deal with.”

My mother-in-law’s voice was barely above a whisper, but she tried to sound steady. She patted Caleb’s hand, forcing a weak smile. I could see the exhaustion etched into her face, but also a stubborn determination not to let grief win.

We all glanced at the two caskets in the center of the living room. It felt like the house was holding its breath.

The caskets seemed to suck the light from the room, their polished wood gleaming dully in the early morning. Tyler squeezed my hand as we passed, his grip tight. The silence was thick, broken only by the creak of the floorboards as we retreated to our rooms. I hated that sound.

Just as Tyler and I were about to sleep, a commotion started outside. He sounded more annoyed than scared.

He pulled on his boots and disappeared out the back door, muttering about "nosy neighbors." I watched him go, nerves on edge. I heard voices rising outside—shouts, then hurried footsteps. My stomach twisted with dread. I perched on the edge of the bed, waiting.

Soon he returned, no longer sleepy, his face blank with shock. I knew something was wrong.