Mom's legs were upside down

The night was thick with tension as the full moon cast its eerie glow over the room. According to the book, witches hunt on moonlit nights to capture their youth, and tonight, I wasn't taking any chances. Arina hadn't returned from the birthday party, and I wasn't sure if she'd be back at all. But my concern wasn't for her. My sole focus was on my baby girl—my Erin.

I carefully closed all the windows and took the bottle of water that Mrs. Roselia had given me, holding it close. I locked the door, steeling myself for what was to come. Either I would die tonight, or I would kill her. The resolve settled deep within me as I sat beside Erin's crib, my heart racing with a mix of fear and determination.

As the minutes ticked by, a wave of dizziness washed over me, likely from the exhaustion and stress that had built up over the last few days. I fought to stay alert, but then a sound jolted me awake. My eyes snapped open, and I saw it—the window.

My blood ran cold as I saw an ugly, haggard old woman staring at me through the glass. Her face was twisted into a grotesque grin, and her eyes… they were blank, devoid of any life, just hollow sockets that seemed to bore into my soul. My heart stopped for a moment—this was a witch.

She pressed her face against the window, licking the glass with her long, serpentine tongue. The sight was horrifying, and I could feel the icy grip of fear tightening around my chest. Her gaze never left me as she began to scratch at the window with her long, crooked nails, the sound sending chills down my spine.

Without taking my eyes off her, I grabbed Erin from the crib, holding her close to my chest. The witch's grin widened into something even more sinister as she continued to hammer at the window, her movements growing more frantic with each passing second.

I tightened my grip on Erin, my mind racing. 

The witch's rage was palpable. Her face twisted into a snarl, eyes blazing with fury as she broke through the window, shards of glass scattering across the floor. My breath caught in my throat as she advanced toward me, her blood-red face a mask of pure malevolence. The terror was overwhelming, but I knew I had to act quickly.

I held Erin tightly in my arms, trying to shield her from the impending danger. With trembling hands, I grabbed the bottle of water that Mrs. Roselia had given me. I closed my eyes and hurled the contents at the witch, praying it would work.

The water hit her, and I heard an agonized scream pierce the night. I dared to open my eyes and saw her writhing in pain, her right hand and face engulfed in flames. The witch's grotesque features contorted further as she staggered back, her skin sizzling and smoking. She glared at me with a look of pure hatred before leaping through the broken window, disappearing into the darkness outside.

I collapsed to the ground, my body shaking uncontrollably. My mind was a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. I looked down at Erin, who was still sleeping peacefully in my arms, completely unaware of the horror that had unfolded.

The nightmare of the night seemed unending, and I felt a profound exhaustion settle over me. I wanted nothing more than to escape this terror, but the reality was that the witch might return.

I woke up early the next morning, the night's events weighing heavily on my mind. I needed to check the house thoroughly, especially after the chaos of the previous night. As I made my way downstairs, I noticed a few disturbing bloodstains on the floor leading up the stairs. My heart pounded as I followed the trail, gripping the bottle of water tightly, ready for any potential threat.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to our bedroom. There stood Arina in front of the mirror, her back to me. As soon as she noticed my presence, she quickly covered her hand with a cloth, her movements hurried and nervous.

"Arina, when did you come back, and what are you hiding?" I asked, my voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside me.

"N-Nothing," she stuttered, her eyes darting away from mine.

"Let me see," I insisted, laying Erin down gently on the bed. I approached Arina and carefully moved the cloth away from her hand. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the burn marks—angry red blisters and patches of scorched skin. "Arina, your hand. How did it get burned?"

She hesitated, looking down at her hand as if trying to find the right words. "I—I wanted to cook something for you guys," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Arina, can you please be more careful?" I said, my frustration rising. "But what about the bloodstains I found?"

Arina's face paled as she looked at me. "I don't know. When I came back, I saw the stains too."

I took a moment to process her words. The fear and confusion of the night before came flooding back, and I knew I had to tell Arina everything. "Arina, last night I saw the witch. She broke into the house, and I had to use the water to drive her away."

Arina's eyes widened in shock. "So, you saw her?"

"Yes," I said, nodding solemnly. "She was horrible—her face was blood-red, and she looked like she was in intense pain when I threw the water on her."

Arina abruptly stood up from my side, her eyes flashing with an emotion I couldn't quite read. "Get out of my room. I need a nap," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. Before I could respond, she slammed the door in my face, leaving me standing alone in the hallway. I frowned, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration. What was happening to her?

I sighed deeply and turned away from the door. With a heavy heart, I went downstairs to clean the bloodstains on the floor. The routine of cleaning and tidying had become my way of coping with the constant tension in our home. Each moonlit night brought a new tragedy to our neighborhood, with children succumbing to an unknown affliction. Despite our best efforts, no one seemed to have any answers.

As I worked, I couldn't shake the growing concern for Arina. Her behavior had changed drastically over the years. She had become increasingly distant and erratic, her eyes occasionally betraying a flicker of something dark and unsettling. I couldn't understand why she hadn't harmed me or Erin, despite the ominous signs.

Years had passed since Erin was born, and she was now a bright, energetic six-year-old. One day, while playing in the living room, she casually mentioned, "Dad, I saw Mom's legs were upside down."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I froze, staring at her, as a cold realization began to dawn on me. The changes I had observed in Arina, the eerie behavior, and now this strange comment from Erin—it all seemed to point toward something I had been too afraid to acknowledge.

I retreated to my library, desperation clawing at me. I pulled out the old book Mrs. Roselia had given me and flipped through its pages, hoping to find some answers. But the more I read, the more hopeless I felt. The book had offered some insights into witchcraft but nothing concrete about why Arina hadn't killed me or Erin.

I banged my head on the table in frustration. The thought that I had inadvertently created this mess, that my failure to protect my family might have led to Erin's predicament, was almost unbearable. I felt a profound sense of guilt and despair. What could I do now?

I looked up at Erin, who was now playing contentedly with her toys. She seemed so innocent, so unaffected by the darkness that loomed over us. Tomorrow was another moonlit night, and I knew it would be crucial. Everything would come to a head, and perhaps then, I would finally understand the full extent of what we were facing.

"Erin," I said softly, approaching her with a determined look in my eyes.

Erin, sensing my anxiety, climbed onto my lap, her small arms wrapping around me in a gesture of innocent trust. I looked at her, my heart heavy with the knowledge of the danger she might face.

"Honey, will you help your dad?" I asked, forcing myself to sound calm despite the dread settling in my chest.

"Yes," Erin replied, her eyes wide with trust and curiosity.

"So, then let's play a game tomorrow," I said, trying to maintain a reassuring tone.

"Okay, Dad," she agreed, her smile a beacon of warmth in the growing darkness.

The next morning, I ventured to what was now Arina's room. It used to be ours, a place of shared memories, but now it felt foreign and unsettling. Arina was standing in front of the mirror, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she meticulously brushed it. The sight was almost serene, but there was an underlying tension that I couldn't ignore.

"Arina," I called out softly, but she didn't respond immediately.

"Arina, I can't come home tonight," I said, hoping to convey a sense of normalcy while masking my true intentions.

At the sound of my voice, she turned around. Her face lit up with a dazzling smile, the kind that seemed too bright, too controlled. "When will you come back?" she asked, her voice a mix of warmth and something colder beneath.

"Maybe tomorrow," I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

"Please, come back soon. I'll be waiting for you," she said, her smile unwavering and almost eerie in its intensity.

I don't want to use my daughter. But I think Arina gets what she wants. Only for this amulet she can't take her. I know you don't want to kill Erin, you want to use her as your sacrifice. Because Erin was born with some power and I realized that long ago. You want her power. Maybe after taking her, you will kill me.