Family Curse: The Secrets of an Old Barn

“What's going on?” I asked the officer.

“Let's just go, mam.” He roughly wrapped his fingers around my arm and walked me to an unmarked car.

“Ow!” I screamed in pain from his tight grip.

Where's he taking me? I thought to myself with panic starting to take over my body and mind with fear of what was happening or about to happen next.

The officer drove down a dirt road that led out of town until there was nothing but trees lining the sides of the street for miles and miles before we finally came upon a huge barn that looked like it would fall down any minute now.

“Mam, I need you to come with me,” the officer said as he unlocked his door and stepped out of the car.

I reluctantly followed suit knowing there was no way for me to get away from him. I managed to make it out of the car and walk towards the barn door.

Of course, I recognized that barn, even before I got out of the car.

That was Jack's family barn, where he and I had our wedding less than a year ago.

The officer led me inside and I found myself in the middle of a large dark room with garbage scattered all around my feet.

The old wood-burning stove was still there in the middle of the room, along with the rustic table next to it, and I felt nauseated like I was going to throw up.

My throat started closing in on me and my eyes began stinging from the tears as I looked around the dark room that smelled of smoke and wet wood.

The floor, uneven and full of holes and the wooden walls were charred black from the fire that swept through the barn on the day of our wedding.

“Why are we here?” I asked the officer as my eyes searched his eyes for clues but all he did was stare back at me.

“Do you recognize the place?” He said as an owl hooted from somewhere in the barn. My heart jumped with fear because I thought it was a warning of what will come next.

He led me to the dusty table covered in scars and cuts as if someone had tried to destroy it angrily.

At my feet, there were black-and-white photographs scattered all over, torn and crumpled like trash. I noticed some of the faces on the photographs had red thick crisscrossed marks on them. It gave me shivers.

The officer picked one of those yellowish photos off the floor and pointed to one of the crossed faces.

“Your husband could be next,” he said, “if you don't hurry up.” I felt how blood left my face.

“Now, I’m going to tell you why.

“Jack's Great-Great Aunt Angie was born with mystical powers. Yet nobody knew about it.

“After she was given away into a loveless marriage by her own father to her greedy, heartless second-cousin, right in this barn, she cast an evil spell on all male members of her bloodline.

“The curse caused many males in Jack’s family to meet their end before turning 30 — always under bizarre circumstances!

“Angie’s own husband was first. One night he drank himself into oblivion and fell asleep in a hay bale. The next morning, his body was found, charred and next to his horse’s carcass.

“Jack's father was also burned to death right in front of Jack’s eyes when he was only three. Jack’s mother died a week later from the pain of her loss.”

Oh, I thought. I didn’t know that, all I knew — Jack was raised by his tireless grandmother on this farm.

“Now you,” the officer grabbed my arm with force, digging his fingers into it like claws. “You love Jack, don’t you?”

I tried to move away from him but he held me tight.

“Write this phone number down,” he ordered and handed me a pen he pulled out from his uniform shirt pocket and a scrap of paper he picked off the floor. He said the number slowly as if I was a child who was just learning her numbers.

“This is Angie's number,” he said, watching me write it down.

“Today is the last day when Jack can call her and that in itself will lift the family curse.

“If she dies without hearing from Jack -- then, your Jack and all your future sons will be doomed.

“Is that clear?” He barked at me as I stood in front of him with tears pouring down my face. "Is it?”

I wanted to scream back, Yes! But before I could do that, I woke up in a cold sweat next to Jack in my own home, my own bed.

Phew, I thought, that was just a bad dream, looking to my left, where Jack, very much alive, was asleep.

Then, I glanced at my hands and saw myself gripping a scrap of paper with a phone number scribbled in my own shaky handwriting.

Huh? I thought, trying to separate my dreams from my realities.

What was true was true. We had our wedding in the old barn that belonged to my Jack’s family. Jack and I never talked about what happened there on our wedding day. Jack wasn't much of a talker to begin with and less so when it came to his family matters.

Somehow, the barn was set on fire that night. Oblivious to what's going on, we were all partying, until glass shards of broken windows began falling into our midst.

We tried to extinguish the inferno with water buckets, but it only seemed to intensify. Someone told us there was a gas leak somewhere in the barn. People ran out of the barn, screaming for their lives while they were engulfed in flames. It was a mess but nobody died thankfully.

After that, every time I saw a photo of any barn, even the most idyllic picture of a barn, I had a panic attack. What's worse -- Jack didn't want to discuss it, which only exacerbated my anxiety.

I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths. One, two, in, out. I had to wake up Jack. I touched his shoulder, “Jackie.”

He awoke with a start, “Yeah, what?” he asked sleepily, raising up to a sitting position in bed. I hesitated to unload on him the whole story; I didn't want him to brush me off again.

“Jackie,” I started indecisively. “I had a dream that I was back at the barn where we had our wedding...”

He shook his head as if to clear from the sleep still clinging to him. "It's just a dream, Honey. Go back to sleep.”

I swallowed hard, “That fire was set by someone from your family, Jack!”

“I know," he said and for a moment I thought that my words finally got through to him but then his voice became colder than ice as he repeated, “Go back to sleep, please. I need to be up early tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, Jack!” I shouted, grabbing his hand, “Do you remember, Aunt Angie? I heard she is not well. Could you, please, call her?”

I didn't want to explain the real reason, for fear of him clamming up.

“That's just kindness, Jack,” I said hurriedly. “You are not against kindness, right?” He shrugged and I took it as a yes.

I grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed the number that the police officer gave me. The fact that it was the phone number from my dream was crazy but now it didn't matter.

Ring, another ring, and then a sweet voice came on, “Is that you, Jack?”

I shoved the phone to my husband.

“It’s me, yes. How are you, Aunt Angie?”

I leaned over to Jack to hear both of them well and got jolted when Jack suddenly said,

“Auntie!”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Is that true that you are a Mystical Priestess? They said, as a young girl, you traveled and learned from ancient temples across the world about how best to hone magic powers and use them for good...”

“All true, Jack,” I heard her saying.

“And yet,” said Jack and put his hand on my arm, his fingers tightened on my wrist until they were white at the knuckles. “On the night of our wedding, he paused and took a breath, “Who set the barn on fire?”

“I did,” she said, calmly. “Let me give you the whole story, Dear. I am not a vengeful witch, Jack. I was following the Curriculum of Supreme Mystics.

“I was ordered to place a curse on our bloodline. It was the punishment for something that a few men in our family did. The curse was for all men in our family to die young.

“But, it was you, Jack, designated to lift the curse. And all you had to do, Jack, is to call me, and you did.

“Nobody will die from the curse anymore, It is lifted now and I can go away in peace. Goodbye, Jack.”

“Bye, Auntie.”

“Oh and Jack, please, hug your wife. You're a lucky man, Jack. She is an angel,”

There was a moment of silence and then she added,

“And never let your bitterness get the best of you, Jack...”

Those were her last words.

Aunt Angie died that night. Jack and I attended her memorial service held in the very same barn. It was cleaned nicely before the service and was no longer scary. In fact, we were considering moving in and rebuilding the place slowly, taking our time and naming the barn Angie’s.

Dear Readers, thank you for reading! Feel free to ask any questions. Special Thanks to Pam Mayer — my tireless friend, editor and collaborator.