Chapter 3: Shadows and Whispers

As soon as I finished, a loud thunderclap hit.

The whole building shook, shelves rattling, and the neon sign in the window blinked out for a second. It was the kind of thunder that made you jump out of your skin.

It was so loud the fan hanging from the beam buzzed.

A high-pitched whine came from the motor, and I saw dust shake loose from the wooden beam. My heart skipped a beat.

It felt like the fan might fall any second.

That old fan was solid cast iron—if it ever came down, it’d crack a skull open.

I said nervously, "Sir, sit somewhere else. Don’t sit under the fan. It’s not sturdy. It’s fallen before."

I tried to sound casual, but my voice quivered. The memory of that day two years ago flashed in my mind—blood, chaos, the awful silence afterward.

The fan in our store was heavy and had come down a few times, but luckily never hit anyone.

Getting a new one would cost a lot, and Grandpa never wanted to spend the money.

He just added a few more chains to hold it up.

We didn’t use the fan unless it was really hot.

The man looked at me, his eyes weird, like he was up to something.

He smiled, "It’s fine, I’m not worried. Kid, just do what I say—turn on the fan. My clothes are thick, I’m about to die from the heat."

His grin stretched too wide, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

I always felt something was off about him, but couldn’t put my finger on it.

Seeing me hesitate, the man stood up.

He moved suddenly, scraping the stool back so hard it left a black mark on the old tile. My stomach flipped—something in his posture told me not to mess with him.

As soon as he did, I stepped back. I didn’t know why, but I was scared of him.

I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Even though he wasn’t tall or broad, there was something menacing in the way he looked at me.

He wasn’t tall. Even standing, he was still far from the fan.

He said, "If you won’t do it, I will."

He went to find the switch.

Before I could say anything, he flipped it on.

The fan shook hard, making a screech like metal grinding, then started spinning, letting out a piercing noise.

It was awful.

It sounded like the inside of a junkyard, sharp and grating. The lights overhead flickered with every rotation.

After the fan started, the man smiled, sat down under it, and muttered, "It’s so hot."

Right then, cold sweat broke out on my back.

Two years ago, the second son had said those exact words.

The memory was sharp and clear—the same tone, the same complaint. I felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees right then.

I was so scared my legs went weak and my scalp tingled.

My pulse thudded in my ears. Every story I’d ever heard about this fan flashed through my mind.

The man seemed to notice something weird about me. He looked at me and asked, "Kid, what’s wrong?"

My voice shook, "N-nothing..."

Just then, a flash of lightning lit up the whole room.

It was so bright it washed out the colors, making everyone look pale and ghostly. The shadows on the wall seemed to stretch and bend in the sudden glare.

I glanced at the floor and saw the man had two shadows. One was his own, and the other had no head.

I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, but the second shadow—headless—stayed put. Maybe the storm was messing with my mind.

After the lightning faded, I was shaking all over, my palms slick with sweat.

The old homeless man was right—the second son was still in the store.

My mind raced, remembering every warning I’d ever heard about ghosts and spirits from old Mrs. Fields down the street, or from the late-night radio preachers Grandpa sometimes listened to.

Seeing me spaced out, the man smiled at me. His smile was creepy, and the way he looked at me was just like the second son.

It was as if the person sitting under the fan was the second son himself.

The man looked at me and said, "Kid, why do you keep staring at me? What did you see?"

I answered, scared, "N-nothing..."

Old folks in town always say: even if you see a ghost, you can’t let on. Pretend you didn’t see anything.

If a ghost knows you saw it, it’ll come after you.

I repeated that old advice in my head like a prayer, wishing I could make myself invisible.