Chapter 3: The Curse of the Red Thread

Now came the real show. Time for the big reveal.

The lights snapped on. Inside the pentagram, the fortune teller and his heavyset buddy were tied up. I sat nearby, watching my phone as the viewer count shot past ten thousand. Gotcha. My heart raced, but this time it was with excitement.

[This is wild!]

[Are they ghosts or not?]

I shook my pill bottle, grinned at the fortune teller, and said, “The fish took the bait.” The chat exploded with laughing emojis and fire.

I’m the 101st disciple of St. Mary’s. Born with second sight, I see what others can’t. If something lets you see it, it wants something from you. That’s the first rule Father Murphy ever taught me. Or as Father Murphy calls it, soul cultivation.

Like my other friends, I started out livestreaming relationship readings. All donations go to charity—or, as Father Murphy calls it, soul cultivation. I always thought that was a fancy way of saying, ‘don’t get greedy.’

One night, I connected with the late Marissa. She and Josh were supposed to get married next month, but two home invaders broke in. Marissa was pregnant, but never got to tell Josh. The memory hit me hard.

The criminals locked them in separate rooms, tortured them, and after stealing their bank info, killed them and dumped the bodies. It was the kind of story that made headlines for a week and haunted the town for years. I still see their faces sometimes.

Lovers torn apart on the eve of their wedding. Marissa’s bruised face appeared in my mind: “Please, help me find Josh’s body. Only if we’re buried together can we move on.” Her voice was soft, but it echoed in my dreams for days. I couldn’t let it go.

I found Josh’s body, still waiting for her. To catch the killers, we staged a livestream trap. It was risky, but it was the only way to get justice for them both. I knew it could blow up in our faces.

The fortune teller and his buddy, real names Danny Russo and Mike Trent, were ex-cons. Real winners. They’d tried to scam people with fake psychic readings, then targeted ghosts. They set up shop, stalked Marissa and Josh, and killed them when the scam went bad. Their mugshots were all over the news the next day.

When the police arrived, neighbors pelted them with eggs. The whole street cheered. Marissa and Josh’s ashes were buried together. As the cops hauled Danny and Mike away, I saw the couple, dressed in white, waving at me as they walked into the light. For a moment, everything felt right in the world.

But then the red string on Marissa’s wrist snapped. A dark force pulled her away. She vanished in a wisp of smoke. Josh howled, blood running from his eyes. The red string was swallowed by black mist. My hands trembled, and I felt the old fear settle back in. My stomach knotted.

“Crap! Too late—Josh is turning vengeful.”

I pulled out a cross, ready to defend myself. He flung me aside. I woke up in the hospital, my friend and mentor, Pastor Will, at my side, peeling an apple. The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and overcooked broccoli. My head throbbed.

“Pastor! Why are you here?” I asked, voice croaky.

He shrugged. “You’re reckless, as usual. Master sent me to check on you.” He handed me a slice of apple, his face half-annoyed, half-amused. I tried to smile, but my lips barely moved.

Tonight, a girl hovered nearby, handling paperwork. “That your girlfriend?” I whispered, trying to tease him.

He snorted. “Just my assistant. You should worry about you—Marissa’s ashes are missing.”

“What?!” My heart skipped.

We hurried to the cemetery. Josh and Marissa’s grave had been disturbed. Marissa’s urn was gone, replaced by another girl’s, wrapped in black threads. The sight made my stomach churn. My hands shook as I reached for the threads.

“Someone’s trying to force a different girl to marry Josh’s ghost,” Pastor Will muttered. His voice was grim, like he’d seen this before. I couldn’t believe it. People really are that twisted.

At Josh’s family home, red lanterns hung on the porch. Inside, an altar, a live rooster and hen, and burning paper in a copper bowl. The whole scene felt like a bizarre mashup of Southern Gothic and old-world superstition. Sometimes I wondered if I’d stumbled onto the set of a horror movie.

“We have to stop this!” I yelled, heart pounding. I could feel sweat trickling down my back.

We burst in, knocking over the bowl. Josh’s mom screamed, “Get out! Marissa’s no good—she trapped my son, got pregnant out of wedlock! She doesn’t deserve to be part of our family!” Her words were sharp, slicing through the room like broken glass. The room went dead silent.

“Where are Marissa’s ashes?”

“Fed them to the pigs!” she spat. Her eyes blazed with fury, and I took a step back. I could barely breathe.

I saw black threads stretching from Josh to every family member. The house felt heavy, like the air itself was turning to tar. My chest tightened.

“Pastor, I think it’s too late.” I swallowed, resigned. My shoulders slumped.

He tried to warn them, but they drove us out. We barely made it down the steps before thick black clouds gathered over the house. Josh, now a vengeful ghost, was about to take revenge. The sky outside turned the color of bruises. I shivered.

I remembered Marissa’s tradition: two lovers cut a lock of hair, twist it into a red thread, and keep it as a promise. Her mom had the thread in a box. I could almost feel Marissa’s presence urging me on. My throat tightened.

We rushed to her house by the pond. Marissa’s mom, Mrs. Evans, wept as she handed us the box. “I just wanted my daughter to be happy. I saved up for a pair of gold bracelets and made this red thread for them.” Her hands shook as she passed it over. My eyes burned.

Back at the graveyard, Josh had slaughtered everyone but his mom. Pastor Will risked his life, offering the red thread. “Marissa’s soul is here. Bury it with your ashes, and you can be together in the next life.” His voice was steady, but I could see the fear in his eyes. My heart was in my throat.

Josh calmed, the black mist faded, and he vanished into the urn. The red thread glowed, the urn’s black threads peeled away, and Marissa’s name appeared on the headstone. The air cleared, and for the first time in days, I felt hope. Maybe things would finally be okay.

Back home, life returned to normal. I kept livestreaming. My followers exploded—along with my trolls. The DMs were relentless, but I’d learned to tune them out. Gotta love the internet.

One day, Pastor Will invited me to brunch. “Did you know? The two thugs who killed Marissa and Josh were hired by Josh’s family’s favorite girl—Jessica, the mayor’s daughter.” He said it like he was reading the weather, but the news hit me like a freight train. I nearly spit out my mimosa.

I nearly choked on my coffee. “No way! That’s wild!” I wiped my mouth, still in shock.

“She wanted Josh, but he loved Marissa. Jessica hired those guys to ruin Marissa’s reputation. Josh’s mom wanted Jessica as a daughter-in-law, but after Josh died, Jessica wouldn’t marry a dead man. So she poisoned Jessica and tried to set up a ghost marriage.” For a second, I just sat there, stunned.

“Are there really ghosts?” I asked. “Or is it just the evil in people’s hearts?” I let the question hang there, not sure I wanted an answer.

He smiled. “No matter how hard things get, true love finds a way.” He looked at me, the faint scent of aftershave lingering. My cheeks flushed. Maybe he was right.

“Want to join my studio?” he asked. “I’ll pay double.” He winked, and I laughed.

“Don’t you already have an assistant?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. “Just kidding. She’s a client. You get your own office for relationship readings.” He nudged me. I rolled my eyes but smiled.

I smiled. “Deal!” I couldn’t help but feel excited for what was next.

And so ends the story of the haunted red string curse. But trust me—there’s always another ghost waiting in the wings.

Next up: A Hollywood starlet haunted by her own ghost! Stay tuned, because in my line of work, you never know who—or what—will show up next.