The Curse of Borrowed Rice / Chapter 5: Blood and Rice
The Curse of Borrowed Rice

The Curse of Borrowed Rice

Author: Jennifer Chen


Chapter 5: Blood and Rice

Without another word, Mrs. Ramsey spun on her heel and marched out the door, her skirts swishing around her ankles. The rest of us scrambled to follow, stumbling over each other in our haste. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the yard as we hurried after her, hearts pounding with hope and dread.

Suddenly, it hit us—Mrs. Ramsey might know where Grandma was.

Aunt Linda limped along, clutching her crutch, while Uncle Travis hobbled behind, his head bandaged. Even the neighbors peeked out their windows, watching the procession head toward the pond. It felt like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting for a miracle—or a disaster.

She stopped by the pond and said, “Go get someone to fish out a body. She’s in there.”

The pond shimmered in the fading light, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple. Mrs. Ramsey pointed to the center, her voice steady and sure. "She’s here. Get someone who knows how to bring her out." The words sent a chill through us all, and nobody dared argue. The pond had always been a place of secrets, and now it held our biggest one yet.

The pond wasn’t deep, but it was hooked up to the big river. Grown-ups never let us kids play there.

Parents warned us about the current, about the snapping turtles and the thick, sucking mud. We’d dare each other to skip stones from the edge, but nobody ever went in past their ankles. The water was dark, hiding things beneath its surface. Now, standing there with the grown-ups, I understood why.

The moss squished under their boots. The smell was even worse up close. Even after we found two body retrievers from the next county, neither dared to go into the water.

The men arrived in battered pickup trucks, boots caked with mud, but even they hesitated at the pond’s edge. They peered into the water, whispering to each other, shaking their heads. The moss squished under their feet, and the smell of rot was stronger here, clinging to the air like a warning.

“Ain’t no amount of rope or hooks gonna help here,” one of them muttered. That’s when I knew we were in real trouble. They all said the pond in Willow Creek was haunted, that their skills weren’t enough, and told our family to rent a pump from town to drain the water.

"Ain’t no amount of rope or hooks gonna help here," one of them muttered, eyes darting around. "You want her out, you gotta drain it." The words settled over us like a death sentence. Uncle Wayne cursed, Aunt Linda muttered a prayer, and Mom just squeezed my hand, her grip tight and cold.

Mrs. Ramsey’s words sent chills down my spine. “Go. Your mother is standing in the pond with her eyes open. If she doesn’t come out, your family will never have peace.”

Mrs. Ramsey’s words cut through the murmurs, her tone leaving no room for argument. She looked at each of us in turn, her eyes hard. "You want peace? You bring her home. Do it fast, or you’ll regret it." The grown-ups nodded, faces pale, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

That night, Uncle Wayne gathered everyone together. The tension in the room was electric. “You all know the situation. Blocking the pond’s inlet, renting a pump, and retrieving the body will cost over three thousand dollars. The three families need to pool the money.”

We crowded into the living room, the air thick with sweat and worry. Uncle Wayne spread out the bills and receipts on the coffee table, his hands shaking. "It’s gotta be done. We split it three ways, or none of us get any sleep again." The tension in the room was electric, everyone eyeing each other with suspicion and resentment.

She slammed her fist on the table. “That old woman—dead and still causing trouble!”

Her anger filled the room, but beneath it, I could hear the fear trembling in her words.

Uncle Travis leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his tone dismissive. “I don’t have any money. I’m single, always relied on Mom for help. Where would I get money?” He acted indifferent, making Uncle Wayne suddenly furious. The blood ran down his forehead, and he cursed up a storm, refusing to go to the ER.

Aunt Susan’s voice cracked. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “That’s our own mother! How can you be so heartless?”

Her pain was raw, echoing through the room. The rest of us looked away, ashamed and helpless.

He spat the words, glaring at Uncle Wayne and Aunt Susan. “Heartless? All of us have suffered. Only you and Wayne are fine. If you’re so scared, you two pay.”

The argument spiraled, voices rising, accusations flying. I covered my ears, wishing I could disappear.

The house was chaos—people crying, shouting, running in circles. The house was silent except for the creaks and groans. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The smell of rot thick in my nose. Every shadow seemed to move, and I pulled the covers up to my chin, heart pounding. The grown-ups’ voices echoed in my head, and I wondered if we’d ever be a family again.

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