Episode 37

The salt-laced wind whipped Kadja’s hair across her face as she huddled deeper into the ancient stone of the Torrey Cemetery wall. The chill seeped through her thin jacket, a familiar companion to the gnawing emptiness inside. Saint Stephen’s High School, a place meant for learning and friendships, had become another stage for the same relentless torment. The whispers followed her like spectral hounds – “freak,” “witch,” worse echoing in the hallways, clinging to her like a shroud. Her parents’ words, “it’s your fault,” still resonated, a cruel refrain that amplified her isolation. They had sold their house, hoping to outrun the curse, but the curse, she was beginning to understand, wasn’t tied to a place. It was tied to *her*.

She’d tried to disappear, to melt into the shadows of the Revolutionary War cemetery, a place where the dead seemed more welcoming than the living. Here, amidst the weathered stones and the silent stories of those long gone, she found a semblance of peace. The whispers of the wind through the pines sounded like hushed conversations, and the shadows that danced between the tombstones felt less menacing than the sneers of her classmates.

She traced the faded inscription on a nearby stone, the name barely legible: “Eleanor Vance. Beloved wife and mother. Departed this life…” The words blurred as a wave of despair washed over her, a familiar psychic residue. Eleanor Vance’s story, like so many others she’d encountered in her brief, painful life, was one of sorrow. Kadja felt a pang of recognition, a familiar ache that mirrored the unrest she sensed even in these silent grounds.