Chapter 1: The Night the Curse Began

On the night of July 7th. My aunt died.

The air was thick and heavy, sticky with that kind of heat—makes even the crickets shut up, you know? It was just past midnight when the news hit, heavy as thunder. My aunt, Mary Jean, was gone.

She walked out behind our old clapboard house. Threw herself down the mossy, crumbling well that's been there since my great-granddad built the place.

That red outfit—the same one she wore every Christmas—stood out sharp against the moonlit grass. Folks in Maple Heights always said red was bad luck at a funeral, but Aunt Mary Jean never gave a damn about what people thought. She wanted to be remembered.

Before she died, she cursed us—said not even our family’s chickens or dogs would survive.

Her voice still echoed in my head, sharp as broken glass: "Not a soul in this house, not even your mutt or your hens, will see the sun come up!" The words sent a chill crawling down my spine, the kind that makes you check behind you—even in daylight.

To keep my aunt from coming back as a vengeful spirit, Uncle Joe suggested moving her body to the county morgue.

Uncle Joe, always the practical one, said, "Better safe than sorry. Get her out of here before her ghost starts knocking at your window." Around here, folks didn’t mess with superstitions—especially when Uncle Joe spoke up.

But my dad made me watch over her corpse.

He stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes hard as river stones. "Lily, you’re staying with her. Don’t let anything funny happen."

On the fourth night, though, the body up and vanished, and people in Maple Heights started dying in ways you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

Rumors caught like dry grass. Folks whispered about shadows at their windows and blood on their doorsteps. The air felt thick with something old and mean.

But my aunt didn’t become a regular ghost. She turned into something even worse—a Blood Fiend, twisted up with venomous rage and black magic.

They said she’d come back wrong—her spirit warped by hate and those old curses that stick to our land. No one wanted to say it out loud, but everyone knew: this wasn’t any ordinary haunting.

---

Early that morning, a string of curses jolted me awake.

The sun hadn’t even cleared the pines when Dad’s voice started up, echoing through the house. I could smell burnt coffee and last night’s whiskey—the familiar stench of trouble brewing.

When I stepped outside, there was a swollen, bluish-purple corpse in the yard, dressed in a red skirt and jacket.

Dew clung to the grass, but the body looked wrong, like some prop in a cheap horror flick. The red fabric was stained, bunched around twisted limbs.

It was my aunt, still wearing her favorite silver charm bracelet.

That bracelet—tiny hearts and stars—was a gift from her first love. It caught the morning light, glinting cold and hard on her wrist.

Dad, my stepmom, and my little brother were there too.

Dad stood with fists balled, Stepmom wringing her hands, and Eli—my little brother—clutching his toy truck, eyes wide as saucers.

Dad shouted, “Useless woman! You’d rather die than let this family have a moment’s peace! Women are nothing but trouble!”

His voice cracked like a whip, louder than the crows in the trees. You could hear the anger and fear all tangled up together, same as always with him.

Stepmom said, “Oh, Hank, I told you not to push your sister so hard, but you wouldn’t listen. Now look—she’s dead. How are we supposed to explain this to Mayor Grady? We already took the engagement money.”

Her voice shook, eyes darting to the neighbors’ houses. She pulled her cardigan tighter, like she could shrink right into it.

Ten years she’s been here. Feels like a lifetime. Never quite fit in.

She came from out of state, always trying to keep the peace, but never really belonging. Sometimes I’d catch her staring out the window, like she was remembering a whole other life.

But before she could finish, Dad spun around and slapped her. “Shut up! You gonna tell me how to run my house?”

The slap echoed off the siding. Stepmom flinched, cheek reddening. Tyler whimpered. Nobody moved. Just another morning.

Stepmom didn’t dare say another word.

She stared at the ground, one hand pressed to her cheek, the other clutching Eli’s shoulder tight.

“Dad, what about the Xbox you promised me?” my little brother, Eli, piped up.

Eli’s voice was small, hopeful, like he didn’t get the weight in the air. He kicked at the dirt, waiting for Dad to answer.

Dad snapped, “Someone just died and you’re still whining about a game console? If you want to blame someone, blame her!”

He kicked Aunt’s corpse, still cursing. It stuck to my skin. I swear, even the neighbors heard him.

His boot left a dirty scuff on her skirt. I felt sick watching, but nobody dared say a word.

“So… do we really have to give back the engagement money?” Stepmom asked.

Her voice was barely a whisper. She glanced at Dad, then at the dead body, like she hoped the ground would swallow her whole.

“Hell no! I lost everything to Doug and the guys playing cards last week. What money is there to return? Dammit, what rotten luck!” Dad grumbled.

He spat in the grass, grinding his teeth. The morning felt colder.

Stepmom said, “Then what do we do? Mayor Grady isn’t easy to deal with. Why not have Lily take your sister’s place and get married?”

She looked at me, her eyes flickering with a mix of pity and calculation. I felt like a pawn on a chessboard.

Actually, Dad had wanted to marry me off for a long time, but I’m dark-skinned and plain-looking, and after asking around, no family wanted me.

I’d heard the whispers—"that girl’s bad luck," "she’s got the wrong kind of face for a bride." It stung, but I’d gotten used to it.

Dad glared at me and sneered, “With her mug, nobody’d take her if they were desperate! Enough about that. You two handle the corpse and don’t embarrass me. I’ll deal with the engagement money.”

His eyes lingered on me a second too long, making my skin crawl. I swallowed hard, wishing I could disappear.

At that moment, Dad’s gaze turned menacing.

He always got that look before something bad happened—jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, the kind of stare that made you shrink inside.

“Do we need to dig a grave?” Stepmom asked.

She tried to sound practical, but her voice trembled. She kept glancing at the woods, as if she could already hear something moving out there.

Dad barked, “What, dig a grave? For this mess? Just find a tarp and toss her out back by the woods. And don’t let Mom find out, or I’ll break your legs!”

His words were ice cold, and I saw Stepmom’s hands shake as she nodded. Eli just stared at his shoes.

He was about to leave when a familiar figure limped in—it was Uncle Joe.

Uncle Joe’s limp was worse than usual, boots caked with mud. He looked like he’d walked a mile and a half just to get here.

“What’s going on? Mary Jean… how did she die?” Uncle Joe looked shocked.

His voice cracked, and he took off his cap, running a hand through thinning hair. He looked at the body, then at Dad, suspicion in his eyes.

Seeing he couldn’t hide it, Dad explained that Aunt had killed herself by jumping into the well.

He tried to sound casual, but his voice was too loud, too quick. Uncle Joe didn’t buy it for a second.

“Did your sister leave any last words?” Uncle Joe asked.

Uncle Joe’s eyes were sharp, searching for a lie. Dad fidgeted, looking away.

Dad shook his head—after locking up my aunt, he hadn’t gone to see her again.

He mumbled something about being too busy, but no one believed him.

I said, “Last night, when I brought food to Aunt, she said something about chickens and dogs, but I didn’t hear it clearly.”

I remembered her voice—hoarse, desperate, almost whispering. It haunted me all morning.

“Chickens and dogs not surviving?”

Uncle Joe’s brow furrowed, mouth set in a hard line. He looked at me like I was holding the last piece of a puzzle.

I nodded. “I think so.”

I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, and I shivered, even though the sun was rising.

Hearing this, Uncle Joe’s face darkened.