Chapter 4: Rituals and Silent Bells

Finally, as if resigned, Grandpa went inside and brought out a candleholder, setting three white candles as a kind of offering. (I never saw anyone do that in our town, but maybe it was like lighting a candle in church—asking for protection.)

He set them on the kitchen table, hands steady now. The wicks sat there, stubborn in the dim light. It felt like something sacred, even if I didn’t understand it.

But no matter what, the candles wouldn’t light.

He tried three times, matches burning down to his fingertips, but the wicks stayed cold.

Carter’s smile faded, and the room seemed to grow colder.

At first, Carter thought Grandpa was just putting on a show, but seeing this, his face fell.

He leaned in, suddenly unsure. The bravado slipped, replaced by something closer to fear.

Grandpa brought out a stack of old white notepaper, had Grandma light the stove for warmth, and when the fire was roaring, he took out a red-hot poker. The room filled with the scent of burning pine.

He placed the notepaper on it, but it stayed perfectly intact—not a single scorch mark.

We all watched in silence. Carter’s jaw dropped. Even Grandma looked rattled.

Carter stared at Grandpa for a long time, then tried to give him more money. “Sir, please, think of something else.”

He pushed the cash across the table, but Grandpa didn’t even glance at it.

This time Grandpa didn’t take it. Instead, he looked Carter dead in the eye. “You really want to go into that pond?”

His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. The question hung in the air, heavy as lead.

“Sir, I already spent the money to lease it. I can’t get it back. If I don’t get something out of this, I’m sunk.”

Carter’s voice was desperate now, the confidence gone. He looked at Grandpa like he was hoping for a miracle.

Grandpa took down the old cloth pouch from the beam—a pouch made from my childhood patchwork quilt. I remembered the feel of it, soft and worn, like home.

He handled it gently, like it was something precious.

He went to borrow some rice from neighbors, saying it was to ward off evil. (Most folks around here didn’t know that one, but everyone had their own ways of keeping bad luck out.)

He knocked on every door, voice low and urgent.

He’d never done this much before, but this time he poured out half a sack.

The rice made a soft, steady sound as it hit the bowl. It felt like a ritual, and everyone watched in silence.

He ground it into powder and sprinkled it over the candles and notepaper. Even though there were no flames, a fire suddenly shot up.

The room glowed orange, shadows dancing on the walls. The fire burned hot and fast, and Carter jumped back, eyes wide.

Grandpa’s face flickered in the firelight, looking ghostly.

For a moment, he looked like someone out of a legend—half in this world, half in another.

He cut his hand with a small knife, letting his blood drip into a bowl of water. The blood curled and twisted, unsettling to watch.

The water turned cloudy, swirling with red. Grandma gasped, but Grandpa didn’t flinch.

He frowned, but still made a blood-red bell for Carter to carry with him.

He dipped the little brass bell into the bowl, the metal turning a dark, rusty red. He strung it on a leather cord and handed it to Carter.

Handing it over, Grandpa said, “Young man, keep this bell on you when you’re near the pond. If it rings, run. Otherwise, nobody can help you.”

His voice was grave, every word heavy with meaning. Carter took the bell, eyes darting between Grandpa and the door.

Carter tapped the bell on both sides. Oddly, it didn’t make a sound. He tried to joke, but his hands were shaking. The bell was cold and silent in his palm.

Grandpa stared at him. A gust of cold wind blew, and the flames that had just flared suddenly went out.

The room plunged into shadow, and Carter swallowed hard, eyes wide as saucers.

Carter shivered, his voice trembling. “Sir, I get it, I get it. If I find anything, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of first.”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t fool anyone. The bell clinked softly as he stuffed it in his pocket.

Grandpa went on, “I know you’ve got equipment. From the edge of the pond, dig no deeper than forty-nine feet. Not a bit more. No matter what you see, ignore it.”

His words were slow and deliberate, like he was reciting a warning passed down for generations.

Finally, Grandpa said, “Young man, don’t make a big fuss over this pond.”

He leaned back, eyes tired. It was the closest thing to a blessing Grandpa ever gave.

Carter agreed, took the items, and headed for the pond.

He left in a hurry, the bell swinging from his hand. The screen door banged shut behind him, and the house felt a little emptier.

With nothing to do, I wanted to go watch, but Grandma held me back, scolding, “Why are you running around? Didn’t I tell you there’s something in that pond that eats kids?”

She grabbed my arm, voice sharp. Her grip was gentle, but her eyes told me she meant business.

I pouted. “Grandpa said that was just to scare me. There’s nothing in there.”

I crossed my arms, trying to look tough. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe they were both right.

“Your grandpa’s lying. The thing in there loves to eat kids like you.”

She wagged her finger at me, voice rising. For a second, I thought she might actually believe it.