I suddenly sat up, heart pounding like it wanted to tear out of my chest

My hands were shaking as I turned around in the darkness, my breath held tight in my throat.

And there he was.

My father-in-law.

But not the way he had looked earlier—calm, composed, almost expressionless. No.
This man lying between us…
was moving.

His eyes were wide open, unblinking, staring straight at me even though the room was nearly pitch-black. His pupils reflected the faint moonlight coming from the window—two tiny, gleaming dots.

His mouth was trembling… no, twitching, like someone whispering silently at a speed impossible for a normal person.

His fingers, half-curled against the blanket, jerked and flexed uncontrollably.

And the worst part—

His body was violently shivering, as if hundreds of tiny creatures were crawling under his skin.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat as shock rushed through me.

“What… what are you doing?” I whispered shakily.

At the sound of my voice, his twitching stopped abruptly—like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Then, slowly, mechanically, he turned his head toward me.

Not the way a normal person turns.
His neck twisted in a stiff, unnatural motion, one vertebra at a time, producing a faint cracking sound that echoed in the silent room.

His voice came out hoarse, broken, as if pushed through sandpaper.

“It’s… the spirit,” he whispered. “It’s here.”

I stumbled backward on the bed, terrified. The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.

“Marco!” I grabbed my husband’s arm desperately. “Wake up!”

He didn’t move.
He was lying on his side with his back to us, breathing evenly, completely unconscious—too deep for someone who normally woke up at the slightest sound.

“Marco!” I shook him harder. “Please wake up!”

Still nothing.

Then I felt it.

A cold, sharp brush.
Something touched my ankle.

Not a hand.
Not a foot.

Something else.

My entire body went numb. Slowly, without meaning to, I looked down.

Under the blanket near my father-in-law’s waist…
the fabric was rising.

Not from breathing.
Not from shifting position.

It rose and fell in unnatural, rapid pulses, as if something inside the blanket was scurrying, crawling, moving toward me.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no—”

I threw the blanket off with a violent shove.

Nothing.

Empty.

My father-in-law’s legs were still.

But then…

A sound — soft at first, then clearer:

Tap… tap… tap…

Something ran under the bed.

I screamed.

My father-in-law suddenly lurched forward, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength.

“Don’t move!” he hissed.

His nails dug into my skin. His hand shook violently, but his grip was iron-tight.

“It reacts to movement.”

My breathing turned shallow.

“What reacts?” I whispered.

He looked at me, wild-eyed.

“The spirit… the one that chooses the firstborn son.”

My stomach twisted.
This wasn’t a tradition.
This wasn’t superstition.

Something else was happening.

I yanked my wrist away, stumbling off the bed. The cold floor bit into my feet as I backed into the wall.

“You’re scaring me!” I cried. “What is going on? Why did you come in here? Why do you say something is under the bed? Why—”

The door suddenly rattled.

A long, low creaking noise.

Slow.
Deliberate.
As if someone outside was dragging their fingers down the wood.

A whisper slipped through the crack under the door.

Not in any language I knew.

Not human.

My father-in-law’s face drained of all color.

“It followed us,” he whispered. “I told Marco we shouldn’t do the ritual with her. The spirit doesn’t like outsiders. It only wants blood connected to the family. Only the men carry it properly.”

“What spirit? What are you talking about?”

He swallowed hard.

“The women in our family… never survive the first year of marriage unless the ritual is completed correctly.”

My blood turned cold.

“That’s insane,” I breathed. “You’re insane.”

He shook his head sharply, desperate.

“It happened to your husband’s mother. And to my mother. And to my grandmother. They died in their sleep. Every single one.”

I felt dizzy.

Was this man delusional?
Was Marco raised with these insane beliefs?
Why had he never told me?

I backed farther into the corner.

“I’m leaving,” I whispered. “I’m getting out of this house right now.”

Before I could take a step, a loud thud hit the outside of the door — as if something hurled itself against it.

My father-in-law jolted upright.

“It’s here.”

The lights flickered.

My husband didn’t wake up.

Something was deeply wrong with him — like he’d been drugged.

I rushed to his side, shaking him with both hands.

“Marco! Please wake up! Please!”

His eyelids fluttered slightly… then opened halfway.

But his eyes didn’t focus.
His pupils were enormous — almost swallowing the brown in his irises.
He murmured something barely audible.

“Don’t… open… the door…”

I felt tears sting my eyes.

“What’s happening to us?”

A sudden scraping sound made me jerk up.

The door handle…
was slowly turning.

My father-in-law lunged forward and held it, pressing his entire trembling body against the door.

“Don’t let it in!” he screamed.

The handle twisted harder, rattling violently now.

“Back away!” he shouted at me. “Stay with Marco! Protect your stomach!”

My stomach?

“What? Why?!”

But before he could answer, the lights went out completely.

Pitch-black.

I couldn’t see my hands.
I couldn’t see the bed.
I couldn’t see anything.

Only the sound of breathing — not mine, not Marco’s — heavy, ragged, right beside me.

Something brushed the side of my leg.

I slapped at the darkness instinctively.

“Don’t touch me!”

A whisper came next to my ear, so close it felt like lips were almost touching my skin.

A child’s whisper.

“Don’t be afraid… I chose you.”

I screamed so loud my throat burned.

The lights flickered back on.

And standing at the foot of the bed—

—was a child.

Or something shaped like a child.

No taller than a seven-year-old. Skin pale, eyes pitch-black, no whites at all. Hair long, wet, sticking to its face. Fingers too long for its body, dangling like thin branches.

Its head tilted unnaturally to the side.

It smiled.

My father-in-law collapsed to the floor, trembling violently.

“It’s too late,” he sobbed. “It has claimed her.”

The creature’s eyes locked onto mine.

Then it pointed—

—not at me—

—but at Marco.

Its lips curled into a chilling grin.

“You should have told her,” it whispered.

I spun around, looking at my husband.

He was awake now—wide awake.
Breathing shallow, face pale, eyes full of guilt.

Something inside me cracked.

“What did you hide from me?” I cried.

Marco didn’t look at me.

He looked at the creature.

“I thought the ritual would keep you safe,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t think it would come for you.”

The creature giggled.
A sound that seemed too old for its body.

Then it crawled—yes, crawled—toward the bed on all fours, limbs bending in unnatural angles.

“STOP!” Marco shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him.

The childlike creature paused.

Its black eyes blinked slowly.

“You can’t protect her,” it hissed. “She is mine now.”

My father-in-law suddenly spoke through chattering teeth.

“Make the circle! Marco, MAKE THE CIRCLE!”

Marco tore the bedsheet, ripping long strips of cloth. He grabbed a piece of chalk from the bedside drawer — placed there earlier, I now realized — and drew a circle around us on the floor, fast, frantic, shaking.

The creature hissed, stepping back.

Marco finished the circle, pulled me inside, and held me like he’d never let go.

The creature shrieked so loudly the lamps shook.

“It’s not finished!” It screeched. “It’s not done! She has to give me—”

The lights exploded into darkness again.

A sharp wind tore through the room.
My ears rang.
Something thrashed against the walls, the bed, the door.

I screamed and clung to Marco.

Suddenly the entire room went silent.

Pitch-black again.

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

Then, one by one, the lights flickered back to life.

Slowly.

Weakly.

And the creature…

…was gone.

My father-in-law collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

Marco held my face between his hands.

“Baby, listen to me,” he whispered urgently, eyes wide with fear and guilt. “We have to leave. Now. Before it comes back.”

I stared at him, still shaking.

“What was that?” I whispered. “What have you dragged me into? What is this thing your family believes in?”

Marco swallowed hard, his eyes full of pain.

“It’s not a belief,” he said. “It’s a curse—one that every woman who marries into this family faces.”

My blood ran cold.

“And I’m next?” I whispered.

Marco’s voice broke.

“No. Not if I break it. Not if we run. Not if I finally tell you the truth.”

The truth.

The words hung heavy in the air.

“What truth?”

Marco took a deep breath.

“It wasn’t my father who invited the spirit tonight. It was me.”

I staggered back as if slapped.

“You WHAT?!”

“It’s the only way to protect the bride,” he said desperately. “If the groom offers the spirit a piece of his blood on the wedding night, it chooses him instead of the bride. That’s how we survive.”

My heartbeat roared in my ears.

“You brought this thing into our room? You let it—touch me?!”

“It wasn’t supposed to!” Marco cried. “It wasn’t supposed to go near you! It was supposed to go to me! I messed it up. I messed everything up.”

I stared at him, horrified.

Broken.

Betrayed.

“You didn’t even tell me,” I whispered. “You didn’t even warn me.”

Marco grabbed my hands.

“I was trying to protect you—”

“That’s not protection,” I said through tears. “That’s sacrifice.”

He flinched.

The word hung in the air.