Chapter 8: Jade and Lies

"Give me that jade, and don’t tell the priest. Or I’ll kill you."

I handed it over, trembling. He swapped it for a black pebble, shoving it in my mother’s mouth, then slapped me again: "What are you staring at? Get it over with!"

The crowd jeered and spat, calling me beast’s spawn.

I looked at their faces, ugly with hate, and steeled myself.

My mother’s eyes were bright as stars, full of love. When I was little, she spoke to me with those eyes. Now I had to destroy them.

Tears dripped onto her face. The knife slid in with a sickening sound. Blood welled up in her eyes, shining dark as rubies in the moonlight.

"Damn demon! Dead all this time and still bleeding—hell if I know what that means," my father spat tobacco juice into the coffin.

The women spat too, furious their men ever wanted the mountain woman.

Suddenly, a strange golden symbol—like a word from some old Bible—flared on the lid, burning bright as a match.

Howls rose around the grave, high and wild, like wind through a broken harmonica.

The townspeople cowered behind William. My father shook so hard his teeth chattered: "Mr. Davis, why are there still ghosts? We did what you said!"