Chapter 3: The Curse Follows South

As soon as I crawled under the covers, I got poked by something hard. I reached out and found a business card.

It was wedged between the sheets, the edges crisp and cool. I turned it over in my hands. The gold foil caught the lamplight.

The one the driver gave me earlier.

I’d almost forgotten about it in the chaos. The card felt heavier than it should, like it carried a secret. I ran my thumb over the embossed letters, half-expecting them to burn.

The card was classy but subtle, with a matte finish. On the front, golden lines outlined a grand old cathedral, with a sign reading “St. Gabriel’s Church.”

The design was old-school, the kind of thing you’d see on a wedding invitation or a high-end event. The cathedral looked almost familiar, though I couldn’t place it.

On the back, the tiniest print—“Chief assistant to Pastor Whitaker, certified relic appraiser for the New York Historical Society, top driver in Manhattan, specializing in exorcisms and supernatural removals. Call me for a ride: 212-555-3456.”

I snorted. Only in New York would someone combine Uber, church work, and ghostbusting into a single business card. The city was nothing if not resourceful.

Below that were two big, sparkling words—

Eddie Cruz.

I couldn’t help but laugh. These days, drivers will do anything for a five-star review.

I shook my head, grinning. Maybe he was just a hustler, or maybe—just maybe—he was the real deal. Either way, I slid the card under my pillow, just in case.

I stuffed the card under my pillow, put on my sleep mask, and got ready to crash—completely missing the swirl of black smoke in the mirror and the flicker of gold on the business card.

The room was still, the only sound my own breathing. Somewhere in the shadows, something shifted, but I was already drifting, lulled by exhaustion.

I was running through a dark alley in my pajamas, chased by a woman in a blood-soaked white dress.

Her footsteps slapped the pavement behind me, closer with every stride. My lungs burned. The taste of metal was sharp on my tongue. I wanted to scream, but the sound died in my throat.

She was close—so close I could smell the blood. The stench of rot hit me like a wall.

The air was thick, suffocating, reeking of decay. I gagged, stumbling over my own feet, desperate to put distance between us.

I fought the urge to puke and ran for my life. The alley stretched on forever.

No matter how fast I ran, the exit never got closer. The walls pressed in, the darkness swallowing me whole.

When the ghost got tired of the chase, she suddenly closed the gap, her icy breath blowing on my neck. Every hair on my body stood up.

Her fingers grazed my shoulder, cold as death. I wanted to turn, to fight, but I was frozen.

I didn’t dare look back. Even knowing it was just a dream, I was terrified to see her face.

Some part of me knew that if I looked, I’d never wake up. My heart jackhammered, my hands slick with sweat.

Her filthy hair wrapped around my ankle and yanked hard, slamming me to the ground. My elbows and knees scraped, blood oozing, the pain so real I wondered if it was really a dream.

My skin burned where I hit the pavement. I whimpered, trying to crawl away. Her grip was iron.

I was helpless, just watching as she floated closer.

She hovered, skin pale and cracked, empty eye sockets crawling with maggots, wild black hair, a tongue like a lizard’s, foul spit dripping onto my face. I gagged. That seemed to piss her off.

Her mouth twisted, lips peeling back to reveal rows of jagged teeth. The stench was overwhelming, like rotten eggs and burnt hair.

Her hair coiled around my neck, lifting me off the ground. I choked. Legs kicking uselessly.

I clawed at the strands, but they only tightened. My vision swam, black dots dancing at the edges.

She floated in front of me, her mouth stretching ear to ear—showing sharp, rotting teeth.

Her grin was impossibly wide, a gash of darkness splitting her face. I thought I’d pass out from fear alone.

Just as I was about to give up, a golden light burst from my body. Her hair recoiled like it’d been burned, and I crashed to the ground, coughing and clutching my neck.

The light sizzled, burning away the strands. I gasped for air. The taste of ozone was sharp on my tongue. For a second, I thought I was safe.

She glared at me, shrieked, and her claws slashed at my face. My pupils shrank, and I screamed myself awake.

My back was drenched in sweat. I sat up, gasping, just as a bolt of lightning split the sky, lighting up the room. A strand of black hair dangled in front of me, thunder booming and rain pouring outside.

The storm outside rattled the windows. The wind howled like a banshee. I blinked, disoriented, trying to convince myself it was all just a nightmare.

I turned my neck, stiff as a board. A pale, ghostly face hovered above me, not even six inches away.

My heart nearly stopped. The face was too real, too close.

I could see every crack in her skin, every maggot squirming in her empty eyes.

It was the woman from my dream!

She grinned, and I felt pure adrenaline surge through me. Just as her claws reached for me, my mind went blank—and I slapped her.

I didn’t think—I just reacted. My hand shot out, connecting with her cheek in a burst of golden light.

I actually hit her.

The ghost and I stared at each other in shock.

We both froze, wide-eyed. For a split second, I swear she looked as surprised as I felt.

A golden handprint shone on her face.

The mark glowed, sizzling against her rotted skin. She recoiled, hissing, eyes narrowing in fury.

I stared at my hand, then at her, and honestly, I could practically see the words “Shocked! Ghost slapped by a human!” written on her rotten face.

It was so absurd, I almost laughed. If this was a nightmare, it was the weirdest one yet.

I was just as shocked.

My fingers tingled, the afterimage of the slap still burning. I didn’t know if I should be scared or proud.

She looked furious, floating in the air, baring her teeth, her hair growing like vines.

Her rage filled the room, making the air heavy and cold. The walls seemed to close in. Shadows danced in the corners.

I watched as her hair ripped the crosses and dreamcatchers off my bedroom wall.

Yellowed paper fluttered down like confetti.

The sound was deafening—wood splintering, glass shattering, charms falling like leaves in a storm. I tried to shield my face as the debris rained down.

The room quickly filled with hair, and my bed was the only safe spot. Disgusted, I kept tearing at the hair, but the golden light on my hands was fading, and sometimes my hand passed right through.

It was like trying to fight smoke. My arms ached, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel my strength slipping away.

I was running out of time.

Panic clawed at my chest. I tried to remember the prayer Julian taught me, but the words jumbled in my mind.

She clearly noticed and got even more excited, even shedding bloody tears. Her hair drifted around my room like seaweed.

Her joy was twisted, her tears staining the sheets. The hair slithered, wrapping tighter, closing off every escape.

When the last bit of golden light disappeared, she shrieked and lunged at me. Her hair wrapped me up tight, leaving only my head free. Her tongue licked my face, leaving a trail of sticky spit.

I gagged again.

The taste was foul. Burning my skin. I wanted to scream, but the hair muffled my voice.

She opened her mouth, measuring, trying to swallow my whole head in one go.

Her jaws unhinged, stretching impossibly wide. I stared into the abyss.

Feeling the pull of death.

Staring death in the face, I actually felt a weird sense of relief. Maybe this was just fate.