Chapter 4
1941words
Let me explain exactly what's happened, step by step.
After that phone call yesterday morning, I tried to reason with my parents, insisting it was all psychological suggestion. But their desperate sobs slowly made me grasp the gravity of the situation.
"Michael..." Mom's voice broke between sobs. "My baby, I'm so sorry... We thought leaving that place would keep you safe, but we never imagined..."
"Mom, try to calm down," I said, keeping my voice steady. "What exactly are you so afraid of? Even if something supernatural is happening, we can get professional help. There are experts who deal with this kind of thing."
The line went silent for so long I thought we'd been disconnected. Then came Dad's grave voice: "There's no avoiding it. You need to return to St. Mary's Village. The nun said it's the only way."
"What? Go back to that hellhole?" I nearly shouted. "Dad, are you serious? Even if that's the only solution, what happens after? What about college? This is insane."
"The nun said to let events unfold... Michael, this isn't a joke," Dad's tone was deadly serious. "We've spoken with Sister Angela. She says the information you provided has established some kind of... bond. Your only hope is to return to where it all began and find a way to break the connection there."
"That sounds completely unscientific! This has to be some kind of mass delusion!"
"MICHAEL!" Mom suddenly shouted, her voice so sharp it made my heart stop. "You don't understand! When we fled that village... someone DIED! Because of this same curse! If you don't go back and face this, YOU might be next!"
Her words hit me like a physical blow. For the first time, I heard genuine terror in my parents' voices—the desperate fear of people facing an unstoppable evil. Despite my rational mindset, I began to waver. Maybe there really were things beyond scientific explanation.
That very night, my parents drove to my university.
When I heard someone calling my name outside the dorm, I looked out the window and saw something I hadn't witnessed in over a decade: my parents clinging to each other, both visibly shaking. Dad, normally so strong and composed, looked broken, while Mom repeatedly dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.
"Michael, come down," Dad's voice crackled through the intercom, sounding like he'd aged twenty years overnight. "We need to talk." I threw on a jacket and rushed downstairs, my heart like lead. Seeing their haggard faces up close, I realized how deeply this had affected them.
"Mom..." I moved to hug her, but she stepped back, her eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions.
My parents exchanged a look before Mom sighed deeply. "You have to return to the village alone. Sister Angela says only at the place where the curse began can you find a way to end it. But we can't go with you."
"Why not?"
"Because we carry our own sins from that place," Dad said, his voice heavy with guilt. "Years ago, we tried to save someone, but in the end... we became accomplices. If we return, it might only make things worse."
The next afternoon, we said goodbye in the campus parking lot. It was possibly the hardest farewell of my life. Dad gripped my hand tightly—his palm cold and clammy as ice. "No matter what happens, remember you're our son. Whatever those people say or do, your soul belongs to our family, not to any dark power."
Mom pulled a small cloth pouch from her purse and pressed it into my hand. It was surprisingly heavy, containing several small glass vials and bundles of dried herbs.
"Holy water and protective herbs," she said through tears. "We don't know if they'll help, but it's all the protection we can offer now. Remember, if things get out of hand, just run. Get out of there and come back to us."
Watching their car disappear, I felt truly alone and afraid for the first time. Standing in that empty parking lot, I realized I would have to face whatever darkness awaited me completely on my own.
After a grueling day and night on buses, I finally arrived at St. Mary's Village, the place I'd fled more than a decade ago.
The moment I stepped off the bus, I was hit with overwhelming déjà vu. Everything looked simultaneously foreign and familiar—like a childhood memory suddenly brought into sharp focus.
At the village entrance stood an ancient stone marker with "St. Mary's Village" carved in ornate 19th-century script, weathered by decades of exposure. Beside it, a newer wooden sign read: "Welcome to Saint Mary Village—A Home of Tradition and Tranquility." But even this "newer" sign had yellowed and faded with age.
What struck me most was the unnatural silence. Despite being mid-afternoon, the streets were completely deserted. Occasionally I'd catch movement behind windows, but whenever I turned to look, curtains would quickly close.
"Michael! Little Michael! Is that really you?" A booming voice called from behind. I turned to see a tall, imposing old man striding toward me. He had silver hair and a thick beard, wearing an elegant black suit with an ancient-looking cross pinned to his lapel.
"Are you..." I struggled to remember, "Mayor Thomas?"
"Ha! You do remember!" Mayor Thomas McBride laughed heartily, clapping my shoulder. "It's been over ten years, and you've grown into a fine young man! Welcome home, my boy!" His enthusiasm felt wrong. Considering how our family had fled in the night, his warm welcome made no sense. "Mayor, about my parents..."
"Ah, Patrick and Mary! How are they doing?" The mayor's expression remained perfectly pleasant. "It's natural for young folks to want to explore the big cities. But blood is thicker than water—St. Mary's will always be your true home."
He guided me down the main street, pointing out changes since my childhood. Though the buildings were well-maintained, the place felt hollow—like an elaborate movie set rather than a living community.
"I've arranged for you to stay in a house at the eastern end of the village," the mayor said, pointing to a detached two-story building in the distance. "It's our most peaceful spot—perfect for resting after your long journey. You look exhausted."
The house did look quiet—unnervingly so. It stood behind an old wooden fence, the yard overgrown with weeds and climbing vines, giving the impression it had been abandoned for years.
"Does anyone actually live here?" I asked, confused.
"Of course! We've been maintaining it, waiting for your return," the mayor's tone was gentle but strangely firm. "You were born here, Michael. This will always be your home."
Inside, the house was surprisingly clean—furniture dusted, fresh food and water in the kitchen—as if someone had been expecting me and had prepared meticulously for my arrival.
"Get some rest, Michael," the mayor said, pausing at the door. "Some old friends will visit tonight. Everyone's excited about your return."
That afternoon, I tried to nap but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The room felt too perfect, like a stage set for a specific purpose. Worse, I constantly felt watched from outside, but whenever I looked, I saw only tree shadows and empty streets.
As the mayor had promised, visitors arrived that evening.
"Michael! This is awesome! You're finally back!" an enthusiastic voice called from outside. I opened the door to find three young men about my age, led by a sturdy, freckle-faced guy with reddish-brown hair.
"I'm Jack O'Connor. Remember me?" He laughed heartily. "We used to catch fish in the creek behind the church when we were kids!"
I vaguely recalled the name, but this Jack looked like he'd stepped straight from an Irish tourism brochure—sun-tanned skin, athletic build, broad smile—though something complex lurked behind his eyes.
"Of course I remember!" I lied politely. "Come on in!" Behind Jack were two other guys who introduced themselves as Paddy and Sean. But what truly caught my attention was the girl walking behind them.
She looked about eighteen or nineteen, with silky golden hair and porcelain skin. Her delicate features made her look like an angel from a Renaissance painting. Dressed in a simple white dress with brown leather shoes, she radiated innocent yet mysterious charm.
Her most striking feature was her eyes—deep blue like the ocean, crystal clear yet somehow unfathomable. When she looked at me, my heart raced inexplicably.
I managed to suppress my immediate urge to bombard her with questions.
As a gentleman, it would be inappropriate to interrogate a stranger, especially in front of her friends.
"Please, everyone sit down," I gestured to the chairs in the yard. "It's great to see old friends again."
Throughout the conversation, the beautiful girl maintained an elegant silence, listening with a gentle smile. Jack and the others asked about my life in Chicago, and I answered politely, though my attention kept drifting to her.
Whenever our eyes met, she'd shyly look down, a sweet smile playing on her lips—a gesture so charming it was captivating. Her every expression seemed perfectly natural yet somehow enchanting, as if she possessed some subtle magic.
"So Michael," Jack asked suddenly, "how long are you planning to stay? Just visiting, or...?"
"I'm not really sure," I answered honestly. "I need to take care of some... family matters." At this, the young men exchanged meaningful glances, but the beautiful girl's expression never changed—as if she'd already known exactly what I would say.
As darkness fell, the group prepared to leave. Before they did, I couldn't help asking, "And who might this young lady be?"
"Oh, this is Anna," Jack said. "She... well... recently moved to the village. She's quiet, but incredibly kind."
Anna nodded politely, her voice soft as a whisper: "It's nice to meet you, Michael. I hope you enjoy your stay." Those simple words somehow brightened the world around me. Her voice was like heavenly music—so gentle and sweet I could have listened to it forever.
I stood in the courtyard watching them leave, feeling strangely dazed.
I couldn't explain why, but Anna gave me an overwhelming sense of déjà vu—as if I'd seen her somewhere before. Yet I was certain we'd never met.
Perhaps it was her unique presence—innocence mixed with mystery, beauty tinged with melancholy—like a fairy tale princess who had stepped into the real world.
It's late now, and I'm sitting in this strange yet familiar room, trying to process everything. Logically, I know something's wrong with this village—the unnatural silence, the staged perfection, those fleeting complex emotions in the villagers' eyes.
Yet I can't deny my powerful attraction to Anna. Her beauty, innocence, and mysterious aura make me desperate to know her better.
Maybe my parents' fears are unfounded. Maybe this is just a normal village, and I've been spooked by childhood trauma and family superstitions.
Perhaps I could find a fresh start here, maybe even love... But why do I constantly feel like I'm overlooking something crucial?
Why does Anna's smile trigger something in my memory? Why does a voice in my subconscious keep sounding alarms?
Enough. Everything might make more sense tomorrow. For now, I need sleep. Though I can't stop thinking about that beautiful, angelic girl, I'm afraid to dream tonight.
Because I'm terrified that in my dreams, she might transform into something else entirely.
