Chapter 5: The Weight of the Curse

The old man squinted at me, his face carved with the kind of lines you get from a lifetime of bad luck and disappointment.

"It's not that simple. You're already tangled up with a ghost. And after what you did last night, it's like you've been cursed." He spoke softly, like he was sharing something too dangerous to say out loud.

"If you go drive, you might still have a sliver of hope. If you don't, you're as good as dead." His words settled over me like a wet blanket. I looked down at my hands, knuckles white around the piece of wood.

My hands were slick with sweat, the wood digging into my palms. I tried to steady my breathing, but every shadow felt like it was watching me. The world felt thinner, less real. The morning sun offered no comfort.

He patted my shoulder—quick, awkward, like he wasn’t used to touching people anymore. His hand was warm, dry, surprisingly steady.

"Don't be so nervous. With this wood, as long as you don't get out of the car, that thing can't hurt you. But..." His face grew serious. "But ghosts are master deceivers. They're experts at tricking people. You must not fall for her lies." His eyes were sharp, almost pleading, like he’d seen this story play out before.

I hugged the wood tight to my chest. It smelled faintly of burnt sugar and wet earth. Whether or not the old man was telling the truth, tonight I definitely wasn’t leaving my car.

A moment of pleasure wasn’t worth losing my life. I could still feel the woman’s touch, cold and sweet as midnight rain, and I shivered.

We agreed to meet again tomorrow at the same spot, and I left. The city was waking up, and I walked back to my cab with the wood tucked under my arm, half-expecting someone to laugh or call me crazy.