Chapter 1
686words
My boyfriend and I were having the time of our lives vacationing here.
The historic buildings, tranquil lakes—everything seemed straight out of a fairy tale.
Until I suddenly craved sushi.
I curled up on the plush hotel sofa, scrolling through my phone, and said to Daniel: "Honey, I'm really craving tuna rolls—you know, those round sushi rolls. Can we order delivery?"
Daniel's movements froze momentarily. With his back to me, his voice came out oddly muffled: "Sure."
I went to take a shower after that.
When I finished and came out, opening the elegant paper box, the smile on my face instantly vanished.
There wasn't a single intact sushi roll inside.
The sushi that should have been perfectly round had either been roughly pressed into misshapen squares or had completely fallen apart into piles of rice with a few sad slices of tuna.
It looked like a culinary crime scene.
An inexplicable wave of anger surged through me.
"Can this even be called sushi? What's wrong with this restaurant?"
"I'm going to complain about this!"
Daniel tidied up the table, his eyes avoiding mine. "Maybe the restaurant was just too busy. We won't order from there again."
After that night, Daniel's behavior grew increasingly bizarre.
I finally couldn't take it anymore and posted a rant on social media.
"Help! I think my boyfriend is possessed. We're on vacation, and he seems to have suddenly developed 'circle phobia'."
"He's thrown away all circular objects in our hotel room: replaced all round dishes with square ones, dismantled the antique wall clock, and even 'accidentally' broke my round makeup mirror."
"The most ridiculous thing happened yesterday—I ordered some famous local sushi, but by the time it reached me, it had somehow been squashed into squares, falling apart everywhere…"
Comments flooded in almost immediately.
Most were just teasing jokes.
Regular User A: "Hahaha, has your boyfriend secretly joined some kind of 'anti-circle cult'?"
Regular User B: "This might be some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder? I suggest he see a psychiatrist."
Regular User C: "It's just the master's task. Your boyfriend isn't what he seems, you know."
I smiled as I scrolled through the comments until a user named "Kieran" began frantically spamming my post.
"DELETE IT! DELETE THIS POST NOW!"
"DON'T MENTION CIRCULAR OBJECTS HERE! YOU'LL REGRET IT!"
I frowned, assuming it was a prank, and was about to block him when he sent another message.
"Wait… is the town you're in called 'Elmore'? I think I've heard about something similar… There was a horrifying witch trial in that town in the 17th century."
This comment existed for barely three seconds before vanishing, as if automatically deleted by the system.
My heart skipped a beat.
Moments later, I received a private message.
It was from Kieran.
"Emily, GET OUT OF THERE!! RUN! LEAVE THAT TOWN!"
He somehow knew my full name.
My fingers turned ice-cold as sweat beaded on the back of my neck.
Before I could reply, he sent a photo.
It was a yellowed, worn photograph with an eerie sepia tone. The image showed a trial from the sixteenth or seventeenth century taking place in the town square.
A crowd of expressionless townspeople surrounded a tall stake.
Bound to the stake was a woman.
Her hair was wild, her eyes blazing with hatred and despair. Across centuries, that hatred seemed to leap from the photograph.
My phone nearly slipped from my trembling hand.
Kieran's next message appeared instantly.
"Do you think Elmore is just a tourist attraction? That's just official marketing. In reality, this place has the highest suicide rate in America and endless paranormal occurrences."
"In the 17th century, brutal witch trials took place there. The woman in the photo was falsely accused of witchcraft and burned alive at the stake."
"Before her death, she cursed everyone in the town and all their descendants."
"Your boyfriend's strange behavior is connected to this curse! Whatever you do, NEVER ask him why he's afraid of circular objects. If you do, you will die a horrible death!"
