Chapter 3: The Begging and the Curse

The gate was wide open. A canopy was set up in the yard, with a casket underneath.

The canopy flapped in the breeze, the casket gleaming dully in the gray light. The whole yard was a patchwork of puddles and trampled grass. Nothing about this felt right.

Under the porch were wreaths, candles, and toy cars. In the middle stood a pair of handmade paper dolls in red and green, their rosy cheeks grinning eerily in the gray rain.

The dolls gave me the creeps. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me, their smiles too wide, too bright for a day like this. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

“Travis, who in your family passed away?”

My voice barely carried over the wind. I watched Travis’s face, searching for any sign of grief or relief. My mouth was dry.

Travis didn’t answer, just walked inside.

His shoulders hunched, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. I followed, heart pounding, unsure what I’d find. The silence was deafening.

I didn’t think much of it and followed him into the yard.

The grass was slick, my boots slipping on the uneven ground. Every step closer to the house felt like stepping deeper into someone else’s nightmare. I hesitated, just for a second.

More than a dozen people filled the living room, all in black, standing or sitting. When we walked in, everyone turned to look.

Their eyes bore into me, measuring, judging. Never did like being the center of attention. The room was silent, except for the low hum of a ceiling fan and the drip-drip of rainwater from someone’s umbrella.

Following family custom, the body was in the center, covered with a yellow comforter and a red blanket, with a prayer card on top.

I knelt and bowed my head.

It felt right, somehow—a gesture of respect, even if I didn’t know the deceased. The hush in the room deepened, the air thick with expectation. My hands shook.

A gust of wind blew in, lifting the prayer card and revealing a bluish face.

I watched the card flutter, my heart hammering in my chest. The face beneath was familiar, too familiar. My stomach dropped.

I looked—just a glance—and every hair on my body stood on end.

My breath caught. I felt a cold sweat break out across my neck, a primal fear I hadn’t felt since childhood. This wasn’t happening.

The person lying there was me.

My own face, pale and still, staring up at the ceiling. I stumbled back, the room spinning, voices rising in alarm. My mind screamed, but no sound came out.

Shocked, I tried to leave, but the crowd had already surrounded me.

Hands grabbed at my arms, my shoulders. Faces blurred together, mouths moving but no sound coming out. Panic clawed at my throat. I was trapped.

They rushed forward and pinned me down.

I fought, kicking and twisting, but there were too many. The weight of their bodies pressed me to the floor, the air thick with sweat and fear. I couldn’t breathe.

Travis held a length of rope, walking toward me with a blank look.

His eyes were empty, his hands steady. The rope snaked through his fingers, rough and familiar. I screamed his name, but he didn’t flinch. He was gone.

I struggled desperately, but it was useless.

My vision blurred, my lungs burning. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, but my limbs felt heavy, useless. Panic. Sweat. Hands everywhere.

As suffocation and despair dragged me toward the edge, someone grabbed my shoulder and yanked me up.

A jolt of pain shot through my arm. Suddenly, I was on the riverbank, gasping, the world spinning around me. I blinked, trying to remember where I was.

I lay there, only then realizing there was a river behind me.

The scent of wet earth and algae filled my nose. My jeans were soaked, mud caking my shoes. I coughed, shivering, trying to piece together what had just happened. Confusion tangled everything.

I was soaked, my legs caked in foul-smelling mud.

It clung to my skin, cold and gritty. My hands trembled as I wiped my face, heart pounding in my ears. My whole body ached.

Travis sat nearby, wiping his face, still shaken. “I called you just now, but you didn’t answer. Lucky I followed you.”

He looked pale, his voice shaky. I could see the fear still flickering in his eyes, a haunted look that wouldn’t go away soon. We were both rattled.

“If the water had been deeper, we both could’ve drowned.”

He said it quietly, almost to himself. I nodded, the reality sinking in. We’d come too close to something we didn’t understand. I shivered. Couldn’t shake the feeling we’d just dodged something big.

The sky was pitch black, the moon hidden behind clouds, only a star or two peeking through.

The world felt empty and endless, the night pressing in on all sides. I shivered, hugging myself, grateful just to be breathing. Every shadow felt sharper.

The next day, we waited until daylight before leaving the motel. As we entered the town, we saw eight small graves not far off, lined up neatly, no headstones or names.

They sat in a row, little mounds of earth, each one marked only by a single stone. No flowers, no photos—just the quiet memory of lives cut short. The sight made my chest ache. I swallowed hard.

Strange.

A chill ran up my spine. I glanced at Travis, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road. The silence between us was heavy.

“Aaron, we’re almost there.” Travis’s voice snapped me out of it, and I picked up the pace.

His tone was tight, urgent. I took a deep breath and followed, the weight of the graves lingering in my mind. I couldn’t shake it.

The old house’s gate was half-closed. With a gentle push, flakes of paint fell away.

The gate groaned, paint curling up like old scabs. I wiped my hand on my jeans, the dust sticking to my skin. Everything here felt tired.

As soon as I stepped into the yard, a chill ran over me.

It was more than just the weather—something in the air prickled at my skin, a warning I couldn’t shake. My instincts screamed, but I kept moving.

A big black mutt tied up in the yard bared its teeth, barking nonstop at us.

The dog’s hackles rose, eyes wild. He lunged at the end of his chain, foam flecking his muzzle. I kept my distance, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was all fight and no trust.

A gray-haired woman came out, hunched and trembling.

She wore a faded housecoat, slippers dragging through the dirt. Her hands shook as she gripped the doorframe, eyes sharp despite her age. She looked like she’d seen it all—and didn’t like any of it.

Her eyes lingered on me, her wrinkled face creasing even more. “Travis, didn’t you say you brought someone to help your wife?”

Her voice was brittle, suspicion dripping from every word. She looked me up and down, lips pressed tight. Great. Another skeptic.

“Mom, this is Aaron. He’s one of the best in the city at this sort of thing.”

Travis tried to sound confident, but his voice wavered. He glanced at me, silently begging for backup. I gave him a small nod.

“Aaron?”

She looked at me doubtfully, then suddenly cried out like she’d seen a ghost. She grabbed Travis’s arm and pulled him back several steps.

Her grip was fierce for someone so frail. Her eyes darted between us, fear and anger mixing on her face. I braced myself for a fight.

“Our family’s had enough bad luck. Why’d you bring him here? What good is a ghostbuster? I told you to find someone who can actually get rid of whatever’s here!”

Her voice was sharp, full of blame.

She jabbed a finger in my direction, her voice rising. Neighbors peeked out from behind curtains, drawn by the commotion. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

My jaw clenched, but I kept my cool. I bit back a retort and just looked at Travis. Seeing him stay silent, I turned to leave—then a thud sounded behind me.

My jaw clenched, but I kept my cool. As I turned, the noise made me stop cold.

Travis dropped to his knees, ignoring his mother’s protests, his face pleading and full of pain. “Aaron, I’m begging you, please save my family.”

He knelt in the mud, tears streaking his face. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. Pride and desperation tangled in his voice. My throat tightened.

I couldn’t bear it. I pulled him up and asked, “What exactly happened?”

My hands shook as I helped him stand. The look in his eyes told me this was bigger than either of us. I waited, letting him gather himself.

When we were kids, even if he got bullied, he never begged for mercy. He wouldn’t humble himself like this unless things were truly bad.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve, trying to pull himself together. I waited, giving him space to find the words. My heart ached for him.