Chapter 3: The Fifth Wailing Spirit

I got right to the point: “How did Curtis die?”

“And how can you be sure it had something to do with what I sold him?”

The preacher’s face was grim. “Curtis was flayed alive—he died from the pain.”

“He died in a way so twisted, no person could’ve done it.”

“Only something not of this world could.”

Flayed alive?

I felt sick to my stomach. That was brutal.

“As for why we’re sure it was your item—when Curtis died, he was clutching the embroidered shoes you sold him.”

“No way,” I shot back. “I know a bit about these things myself. When I got those shoes, I checked—there was no bad energy.”

The preacher nodded. “Right, I checked too. No sign of anything evil. But sometimes, the most dangerous things are the ones that don’t give off any sign at all.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Like the Fifth Wailing Spirit.”

“The Fifth Wailing Spirit ranks high on the Hundred Haunts List—vicious and powerful.”

“It’s called that because it died on the fifth night of the month. These spirits leave no trace of evil.”

“Of course, I’m not saying what’s attached to the shoes is definitely the Fifth Wailing Spirit. Maybe it’s something even worse.”

His words hit me hard, sent a chill crawling down my spine. I stumbled back a step, nearly lost my balance.

Suddenly, I remembered the look of relief on the seller’s face last night. My mind spun. Could it be... these shoes really are cursed?

The preacher steadied me, introduced himself: “Let me introduce myself. I’m Reverend Nathaniel Ford. My family’s been in the ministry for generations.”

He extended his hand, grip firm but his eyes troubled. “I’ve been asked by the Ellsworths to take care of this.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow. “What do you need from me?”

“Lure the spirit,” Reverend Ford said, locking eyes with me. “Since you handled those shoes last night, you’re marked. That thing will come for you.”

I dropped my gaze, thinking hard for a second, then forced a smile. “Sorry, but I don’t buy into ghost stories. I’m just a dealer. I’m sorry about Mr. Ellsworth, but if you want to pin this on me over a pair of shoes, the Antique Dealers’ Association won’t let you get away with it.”

When I finished, Reverend Ford looked surprised. He probably couldn’t figure out why I’d changed my tune so fast.

I slipped my arm from his grasp and said, polite but firm, “I should go. The Ellsworths made a big fuss dragging me out of my shop today.”

“If I don’t get back, the Antique Dealers’ Association might get involved.”