But in the back of my mind, the gnawing fear lingered.

One night, as I tucked him into bed, I noticed something strange on his wrist. A small mark in the shape of a sigil I’d seen in the genealogy book. I froze. “What is that?” I asked.

“Just a… scratch”, he said, scrunching his eyes shut.

I brushed it off. He was a child. Children get scratches.

But then, the dreams began.

I woke up one night to find Gideon sitting up in bed, his eyes wide open, staring at the wall as if he could see something I couldn’t. “Who are you?” he asked.

I turned on the light. “What are you doing, buddy?”

“Who are they?” he said, pointing at the wall.

“No one is there.”

“Who are they?” he repeated, his voice trembling.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The next night I found him in the same position, though he was weeping. “Who are they?” he choked out.

I pulled him into my arms. “No one is there,” I whispered, though I could feel the shadow of something lurking in the corners of my mind.

The days turned into weeks. The mark on his wrist grew darker, more defined.

And then, one night, he vanished.

I searched the house, the neighborhood, the nearby park. My heart raced, the panic clawing at my throat. I found him under the bed, curled up, trembling.

“Gideon!” I gasped, pulling him into my arms. “What were you doing?”

“I was waiting for them,” he said, trembling.

“Waiting for who?”

“The ones who are coming.”

That was when I knew.

I had failed.

The curse had come for him.

I called Dr. Reyes, my voice shaking. “I think he’s in trouble.”

When she arrived, I could see the recognition in her eyes. “He’s… different.”

“Different how?” I asked.

“Different than the rest of you,” she said, her voice low.

It wasn’t a comfort.

The following weeks were a blur of quiet horror. Gideon’s behavior grew more erratic. He would stare at the walls for hours, sometimes whispering to the shadows.

I thought about those family portraits, the emptiness in each one.

And then, one night, it happened.

We were all in bed when the screams started.

I ran to Gideon’s room, but he was gone.

The door burst open, and there he stood, his face alight with something other than fear. “They’re here,” he said, smiling.

They came for him, and he went with them willingly.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding, as they pulled him into the darkness.

I could hear their whispers as they disappeared, “The lineage demands its continuation.”

And I knew then that it was never over.

The Pearce family was not cursed.

We were the curse.

The author does not own or have any interest in the securities discussed in the article.