The Evil My Neighbor Did With My Clothes
Episode 4
Written By Jerry Smith.
The shock of my mother’s words lingered long after the call ended. I couldn’t shake the fear that settled deep in my chest. Her cryptic warning replayed in my mind over and over: “She’s been waiting for you.”
Three agonizing days passed. My skin had darkened even more, the cracks spreading like a disease. An unbearable smell clung to me, and my body had begun to swell slightly. I tried everything to clean myself, but nothing worked. I couldn’t leave the house—I was too ashamed, too afraid.
On the third day, I finally heard the sound of a car pulling into my driveway. My mother had arrived.
I opened the door and saw her standing there, her face etched with worry. She stepped inside and immediately froze, staring at me.
“David…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh no, it’s already started.”
“What’s already started, Mom?” I demanded, my frustration boiling over. “You need to explain what’s going on!”
She sighed deeply, dropping her bag onto the floor. “Let’s sit down.”
We moved to the living room, and I recounted everything that had happened in detail. I told her about the woman, the missing clothes, the dreams, and the transformation of my skin.
When I finished, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, as if summoning the courage to speak.
“David,” she began slowly, her voice heavy with guilt. “There’s something I’ve never told you. Something I hoped you’d never have to know.”
I leaned forward, my heart racing. “What is it, Mom?”
She opened her eyes and looked directly at me. “Before you were born, your father and I struggled to have children. For years, we tried, but nothing worked. I was desperate, David. Desperate to be a mother.”
I listened in silence, sensing that the story was about to take a dark turn.
“One day,” she continued, “I went to see a native doctor. He was well-known in our village for his… abilities. I begged him to help me have a child.”
“What did he do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“He told me he could help,” she said, her voice breaking. “But there was a condition. He said that once the child—once you—turned 30 years old, you would… belong to someone else.”
“Belong to someone else?” I repeated, horrified.
She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “He said you would be married to a dead spirit.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. I stood up abruptly, pacing the room. “Married to a dead spirit? Are you serious, Mom?!”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” she cried, her voice shaking. “I didn’t think it would actually happen. I thought it was just a scare tactic. And you were my miracle, David. I couldn’t say no.”
I turned to face her, my anger bubbling to the surface. “So you sold me to some… spirit? You made a deal without even thinking about what it would mean for me?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head bowed.
“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” I shouted, slamming my hand on the table. “Look at me! My skin is cracking, I’m swelling up, and I smell like death! What am I supposed to do now?”
She wiped her tears and stood up. “There’s one thing we can try. We need to go back to where it all began—to the shrine. Maybe the native doctor left something behind. A way to reverse this.”
I hesitated, my anger warring with my desperation. Finally, I nodded. “Fine. Let’s go tomorrow. But this better work.”
The next morning, we set out early. The drive to the village was long and silent. My mother seemed lost in thought, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
When we arrived, the village was just as she had described—a cluster of small, weathered houses surrounded by thick forest. She led me down a narrow path that wound through the trees, her pace quickening as we approached the shrine.
It was a small, decrepit hut, its walls covered in moss and vines. The air around it was heavy, almost suffocating.
“This is it,” my mother said, stopping in front of the entrance.
I stared at the shrine, my heart pounding. “So what now?”
“We go inside and see if there’s anything left,” she replied, pushing open the creaking wooden door.
The interior was dark and dusty, with a faint smell of decay. Old charms and objects hung from the walls, their purpose unknown. My mother began searching the room, her movements frantic.
“He must have left something,” she muttered. “A book, a charm, anything.”
But as we searched, an elderly woman appeared at the doorway. She wore a tattered shawl and carried a walking stick.
“Who are you?” my mother asked cautiously.
“I’m the caretaker of this place,” the woman replied, her voice raspy. “What do you want here?”
“We need to see the native doctor,” my mother said urgently. “It’s about a deal I made with him years ago.”
The woman shook her head slowly. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” I asked, stepping forward.
“He passed away years ago,” the woman said. “There’s nothing left for you here.”
My heart sank. “What are we supposed to do now?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “You should leave. Some deals can never be undone.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. My mother and I exchanged a worried glance before stepping back outside.
As we walked away from the shrine, I couldn’t help but feel that our last hope had slipped through our fingers.