The Cursed Jar

Chapter 2: Her Name Was on the Scroll

I didn’t sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt something watching. The kind of stillness that made your skin crawl. Like the air was holding its breath.

At 2:14 a.m., I sat up, turned on every light, and opened the jar again.

The parchment was still there.

I pulled it out and forced myself to read the full thing.

**Chen Cici.**

**Curse Transferred. Debt Outstanding. Three nights remain.**

Beneath the text was a red fingerprint. Like someone had pressed bloody ink to seal the deal.

I dropped it on the table.

Three nights.

Three.

What happened after that?

Would I get sick? Haunted? Just... vanish?

I needed answers. And I sure as hell wasn’t going back to Erin.

I thought about going to the police, but what would I even say?

*Hi, my friend cursed me with a haunted jar and now I have seventy-two hours before... something happens.*

Yeah. No.

Then I remembered something—some video I watched months ago. A livestream where someone mentioned a teenage Taoist who specialized in “spirit-bound objects.”

They called him **Leo Zhao**.

Said he didn’t advertise. No flashy website. But if you had a real curse—and the guts to text him—he might show up.

I found the clip, paused on the screen with a blurry contact number.

My fingers hovered over my phone keyboard.

And then I typed:

**I have a cursed jar. Three nights. Please help.**

I hit send.

Didn’t expect a reply.

But ten minutes later, a single message appeared.

**Location?**