🌳 KISSED THE DĒÃD 🌳

He told me to stretch my hand out to take it. I hesitated, nerves twisting in my stomach, but curiosity won. As I reached forward, something in the camera’s reflection made me freeze.

He wasn’t fully showing in the camera at all. His hands… they didn’t look like flesh. I could see nothing but bones, pale and thin, almost like an X-ray had been layered over him. My heart skipped a beat.

Blinking hard, I rubbed my eyes. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. But when I looked again, he had stepped away, gone from the frame as if he had never been there.

“Come join me in the video,” I whispered, a tremor in my voice. But he recoiled, eyes wide with something I couldn’t name. Fear? Panic? Something deeper. He wouldn’t move closer. It was as if the camera itself terrified him.

Minutes later, my husband walked in. Calm, collected—but cold. He grabbed my phone from the tripod and handed me a small, outdated button phone.

“From today, you’re not allowed to record any videos,” he said, voice sharp as a knife.

I stood there, stunned. What had I done wrong? Was it his brother? Some warning from him? I didn’t argue. Ever since his younger brother arrived, my husband had changed—distant, irritable, almost unrecognizable.

Later that evening, as I prepared to shower, he stopped me again.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To bathe in our bathroom,” I replied, pointing toward it.

“Well, you’ll no longer be bathing there. Go to Junior’s room and bathe there.”

My stomach dropped. His brother’s bathroom? That made no sense. His brother was a grown man!

We argued. I pleaded, tried to reason. But his mind was made up. I had no choice but to obey.

When I entered the younger brother’s room, he was standing there, still as a statue, facing that small door my husband had warned me not to touch the other day.

He didn’t turn to look at me. He muttered words under his breath—like a prayer—but I couldn’t hear them clearly.

I decided to ignore him. I reached for the bathroom door, but he snapped his head around suddenly.

“You’re not going in there without me,” he said, voice low and commanding.

I froze. “Eh? What did you just say?”

“You’re not going in without me,” he repeated. Then he turned back, eyes fixed on the door, repeating his strange ritual mumble.

I wanted to argue, but something in his tone silenced me. I went back to my husband and recounted everything.

His response chilled me to the bone.

“I have nothing to say,” he said calmly. “His room. His rules.”

I couldn’t believe it. My husband—my protector—was telling me I had to bathe under the supervision of his brother.

My pulse raced. My skin crawled. I didn’t know whether to scream, run, or hide. And that’s when I remembered the camera… the reflection… the hands.

Something was very, very wrong.

And whatever this was, it wasn’t over.