Chapter Two: The Old Witch

Inside and outside the village, rumors flew like wild birds—some whispered of plague, others of murder, but the most popular tale was of the old ghost who stole hearts. People often came to ask my grandfather for help, but he refused every time.

Since my grandfather wouldn’t intervene, the villagers couldn’t simply wait for death to claim them. They invited a Taoist priest from neighboring villages to perform rituals. Dressed in red, the priest shook his bell, chanted scriptures, and danced with a sword, drawing a lively crowd. I joined the others to watch.

Because my grandfather wouldn’t help, neighbors and relatives gave me cold looks whenever they saw me. Even my usual playmates began to avoid me. Only Sister Yan still played with me. She was two years older, my cousin by family ties.

Perhaps the Taoist rituals had some effect, as no more deaths occurred, and the villagers gradually relaxed. Only my grandfather remained deeply troubled, sighing day and night.

That morning, as usual, I went to Auntie’s house to find Sister Yan. The door was open, but when I called out, no one answered. I stepped inside.

Auntie emerged from the living room, her eyes red, her expression strange—angry, perhaps, yet not quite. She seemed to want to speak but said nothing.

“Auntie, where’s Sister Yan?” I asked.

Tears rolled down Auntie’s cheeks as she replied in a hoarse voice, “Yan is gone.”

“Where did she go?”

“The same place as your Sixth Brother.”

Though young, I immediately understood what Auntie meant. My mind went blank; I couldn’t believe it.

I entered Sister Yan’s room. Uncle and several adults were gathered there. Approaching the bed, I saw Sister Yan lying motionless, just like Sixth Brother before her—her entire body pale, eyes sunken and dark, utterly still.

“If your grandfather had helped, Yan wouldn’t have died!” Uncle shouted at me.

Auntie, wiping her tears, chided him, “Why take it out on the child?”

Uncle fell silent, but his angry gaze told me he held me partly responsible for Sister Yan’s death.

Seeing her lifeless, my heart ached with grief and guilt. I wept uncontrollably, sobbing louder and louder until my cries filled the room.

Uncle’s anger faded as he watched me, replaced by endless sighs.

That day, half the village came to our house. Even the village chief arrived, insisting my grandfather must act. They tried persuasion first, then threats and bribes, even threatening to drive us from the village.

Yet my grandfather just smoked his pipe in silence, unmoved.

Not until night fell did they give up, leaving with curses to vent their frustration.

Grandfather said nothing. After dinner, he told me to go to bed early.

Lying in bed, I couldn’t sleep, my mind filled with thoughts of Sister Yan. I also blamed my grandfather—if only he had acted sooner, she might still be alive.

As the night deepened, I sat up in bed.

“What are you doing?” Grandfather asked.

“Going to the toilet,” I replied.

“Hurry back.”

I left the house and slipped into the yard, but instead of heading to the toilet, I climbed over the wall and ran toward the mountain in the dark, bolstering my courage. I knew Sister Yan would follow the old blind woman tonight. Since my grandfather refused to save her, I would do it myself.

A faint blue-green flame moved in the distance. I hid behind a clump of grass, heart pounding with fear, but resolved to save Sister Yan.

The old blind woman appeared to move slowly, but her pace was swift. Bent with age, she carried an old oil lamp, while the vague figure of Sister Yan followed calmly behind.

As they drew near, I jumped out and shouted, “Sister Yan! Don’t go with her! Run!”

The old blind woman turned toward me, coughing hoarsely before letting out a chilling laugh.

My bravado faded; I suddenly realized whom I was facing. I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t abandon Sister Yan; staying terrified me.

A nauseating stench of rot wafted over from the old blind woman’s body.

I nearly vomited, clamping my hands over my nose.

She turned away, continuing into the dark forest, with Sister Yan obediently following.

“Sister Yan! Don’t go! Run!” I shouted desperately, about to chase after them.

Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder, and a palm slapped the top of my head, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

“You little brat! Sneaking out! Do you have a death wish?” my grandfather scolded in a low voice.

“Sister Yan is going with the old blind woman! I have to save her!” I pleaded.

The blue light of the oil lamp receded into the distance.

“Sister Yan is already dead! That’s not her! Come home, now!” Without argument, my grandfather dragged me back.

At home, his expression changed. He pulled me into the light and tore open my shirt.

“Oh, my ancestors! I warned you not to go near that ghost woman—you’re courting death!” he wailed.

On my left chest was a shallow black mark.

Terror seized me. I asked if I was going to die.

“That ghost woman takes only one person a night. That’s her mark. She’ll come for you tomorrow night!” Grandfather was both angry and anxious.

I burst into tears, asking what I should do. Would I be taken by the old blind woman too?

Grandfather sighed deeply. He said he hadn’t wanted to provoke that ghost, but now he had no choice.

Early the next morning, he went to the village chief and gathered the elders.

He spoke plainly: the recent deaths were linked to the old blind woman. She wasn’t human, but a spirit.

At the word “spirit,” faces paled, and the villagers seemed to understand why my grandfather had hesitated to act. Now, they too wavered.

“You can’t drive out a ghost woman, nor reason with her. Either she tires of us and leaves on her own, or we use the ‘old ways,’” my grandfather declared.

“But in these times, won’t there be trouble?” the village chief hesitated.

“What does it matter? She won’t let us live! Besides, is she even human? Let’s use the ‘old ways!’” someone shouted.

After a brief hesitation, the rest agreed.

It was settled. Grandfather sent me out of the room while they made preparations.

Their discussion lasted two hours. When the elders left, their heads hung low, faces dark, and no one spoke.

Grandfather told me he’d be out until late. He would drop me off at Auntie’s house and told me not to go anywhere until he returned.

At noon, Grandfather and a group of strong young men set off into the northern mountains with many supplies—roosters, a black dog, ropes, gasoline, and axes for every man, along with many sacks of other things.

I stayed at Auntie’s house. Sister Yan had been buried the day before. Uncle had gone with Grandfather and the others.

Auntie burned many incense sticks, offering them to the ancestral tablets and praying for their protection. Still uneasy, she burned a large handful more, placing them in the side rooms, every doorway, and even outside by the pigsty.

Such piety was usually reserved for festivals; now, Auntie prayed to all the gods for success.

As dusk fell and Grandfather’s group still hadn’t returned, Auntie grew more anxious, frowning and unable to sit still.

It was deep into the night when Auntie told me to sleep in her room.

I couldn’t sleep. Fear gnawed at me—Grandfather hadn’t come home, and I dreaded the old blind woman seeking my life.

Suddenly, the dogs outside barked furiously, making me jump. I huddled close to Auntie, who hugged me, trembling as she stared at the door.

After a while, the barking stopped. Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Auntie grabbed a carrying pole, intending to check the door.

Suddenly, a loud knocking sounded.

“Who is it?” Auntie gripped the pole, tense.

No answer.

She called again. After a long pause, a voice finally replied, “Alan, it’s me. Open up!”

It was Uncle!

Auntie breathed a sigh of relief, set down the pole, and hurried to the door, talking as she went, “You scared me half to death! Finally, you’re back!”

Something felt wrong to me. If Uncle had returned, why wasn’t Grandfather with him? Grandfather would never leave me behind. Why hadn’t I heard his voice?

“Auntie!” I wanted to warn her, but she had already unbolted the door.

She opened it and peered outside. “Where are you, Amin?”

“Auntie! Close the door!” I cried desperately.

But she didn’t seem to hear and walked outside.

I called after her as I ran to the doorway, only to see her quickly disappear into the darkness.

A revolting stench filled the air. I turned and saw a hunched figure emerging from the shadows. My legs gave out beneath me—she was here! The old blind woman had come for me!

She looked uglier than ever—hair wild, a huge patch of her face rotted away, her clothes more tattered and scorched as if by fire.

Screaming for Grandfather, I ran back into the house. But he wasn’t there, nor was Auntie. I was alone.

I stumbled inside, fumbling to close the door. Just as it shut, the sickening stench overwhelmed me.

A withered, bony hand reached through the crack, grasping my left chest. I felt a cold surge pierce my heart.

My head spun, my vision went black, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke, seven days had passed. I lay at home, thin as a rail, as if recovering from a serious illness. My skin was pale, my eyes sunken, and a large black mark stained my left chest—neither painful nor itchy.

I never learned what happened that night, nor what befell Grandfather and the others in the mountains. No one ever spoke of it. Only a vast swath of the northern forest had been burned bare.

Grandfather seemed to age decades overnight, now leaning on a cane. My aunts would sigh whenever they saw me, saying Grandfather had fought with his life to save me, and only then was my life spared.