The Family Curse

“I hate my body sometimes,” my daughter said before bedtime. “Whenever I turn one way, I feel like I have to turn the other way to even things out.”

My skin turns cold.

I thought the ghosts had been buried, trapped inside of my body where they could not harm anyone, but they found a way to escape.

Through my wife.

Into my daughter.

The omens were there, but like every idiot in a horror movie I ignored them. Rituals she performed in the corner of rooms. Secrets in the stories she told even though I wasn’t paying enough attention to decode the details. She had been trying to tell me that she sensed something was wrong in her body. Her house was haunted and she had been pointing to the dark corners of the rooms in hopes that her parents could also see the ghosts.

We see them, baby. We see them. But are your Daddy and Mommy brave enough to exorcise them before they grow too strong?

So now we wait to see which closet they peek out of next. To see which form they take.

I turn the lights on to see if they are there. Then, off again. Then, on again, just to be sure. Then off again. Then…

I want to tell her the truth. “You are haunted, my little one. The same ghosts that haunt your Daddy and your Mommy are coming after you.”

We don’t know why we have been cursed, but had hoped that creating something beautiful might stop it from spreading.

“The curse has marked us and the ghosts it created still float in our heads. Now they float in yours.”

We just wanted to create something beautiful.

We call her, “daughter.”

The ghosts call her, “home.”