But there was something off about him. Seriously strange.
I could see it clearly: the index finger on his right hand and the middle finger on his left were each missing a joint.
And then, what he said next made my heart drop into my stomach.
In a raspy, strained voice, his eyes boring into me, he said:
"The trouble that's come to your house... he's the one who brought it."
The moment those words left his mouth, not just my brother, but everyone from the village turned to look at me.
Maybe it was just a reflex, but to me, their stares were full of judgment, even a cruel kind of curiosity.
They didn't say a word, but the looks on their faces twisted the knife already lodged in my heart.
I couldn't face those eyes. I was the one who brought the ghost home. My parents died because of m
