Chapter 6: Bad Juju

Uncle Marcus rolled up in his rusty old Ford and stared at my sister-in-law’s body for a long, silent minute, mumbling prayers.

His frown got deeper, face shadowed and grim.

He pulled Mom behind the tool shed, whispering with her for ages, their heads together like they were plotting a bank job. I pressed my ear to the tin wall, but couldn’t make out a word.

After, Mom told me to swap rooms with my brother—he’d take my cramped spot by the water heater, I’d get his window AC and sunrise view.

I went pale, wanting to refuse but too scared to speak.

Uncle Marcus clapped a heavy, calloused hand on my shoulder. "Listen, son, when a girl hangs herself in red, that’s bad juju. You got a strong spirit—sleep where the sun hits. Your brother’s got more shadow in him. Gotta keep y’all balanced, or else this house’ll go to hell in a handbasket."

I hesitated. "But why do we have to switch?"

He pulled out his battered Bible, gold tooth flashing. "Gotta keep y’all alive. Spirits don’t play favorites."

I shivered, nodding fast, not daring to argue.