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“Well Donald, what did you make of your first day?"

The fatherly demeanour of Mr. Bluhm disarmed Donnie, who was busy packing his schoolbag when the teacher came to his desk. “Fine," he mumbled, casually glancing at the wall clock as it ticked past the end of class, devouring his free time with every subtle movement of its arms. “Uh—good!" he corrected himself, quickly changed his tune, much to his teacher's approval.

“That's what I want to hear." Mr. Bluhm moved away from the young man, walking down the centre of the room, past rows upon rows of neatly-lined desks. Reaching his own, he spilled a container of pens and other stationery, replacing the clanking silence of chairs being put aside with the hissy scribble of his writing.

Donnie rose. The boy next to him left his seat in the same motion, the same moment even.

“Oh and Donald," the voice of their teacher crossed to room in a low tone, “you seem to have made a friend."

The youngest Eriksson looked to his side, where another student slung his bag over his shoulders and looked at him. “Nice to sit 'side you," he said.

“Same."

“Don't know what it's like being the new kid. I never moved across country like you."

“Eh, it's okay. Nothing to write home about really." Donnie decided against describing his past — it would only depress his new classmate. Who wanted to hear about being mugged? Hospitalised barely a month ago? Not him, not with that smile on his face...

“So," Donnie continued, “now that class is over we can...y'know...talk more."

“Outside," he replied, jerking his head toward the classroom door. A wave followed, then the other student left the room. Donnie slung his bag over his shoulder and trotted after him.

“Donald — a moment."

He stopped. Mr. Bluhm momentarily paused his writing. Beckoning him over, the teacher shuffled papers.

“You've received the lesson plan for the rest of the year from one of the other students, correct?"

“Yeah."

He smiled. “Nice to see you fitting in. Zach's a fine student. You won't be led astray with him by your side."

“Thanks." He paused for a second. “Listen...I know I've missed the start of the semester by two weeks, but any chance you can ease up on the homework? J-just for the moment! It's only been one day..." ...and already I've got six assignments for next Monday...geez...

His teacher narrowed his gaze. “Hmm...is that really how you're starting your time in my class? Can't say I've ever been the kind of person to offer such leniency. But sure, you're new. Get it done when you can and hand it in — but only for the next month, alright? After that I expect you to be punctual."

“Don't worry, I will be."

“I wouldn't give you this option if I didn't think you were a decent student. Well-mannered. Quiet. You've been nothing but polite the whole day, and I appreciate that. However...should I find you skipping class or smoking on school grounds this homework deferral is kaput, got that?"

He nodded.

“Anything that breaks rules and I'll not just hold you to a deadline, I'll triple the number of assignments."

Donnie gulped; fortunately he was subtle enough not to draw attention.

The teacher waved his hand. “Off you go. Make friends. Arrive on time tomorrow, yadda-yadda..."

Outside the classroom, Donnie caught up with Zach. The other student stood at almost his height, if not a bit shorter, with short black hair and a thin gait. His clothes were very plain. Like, incredibly plain. You might be forgiven for missing him in a police line-up as he blended perfectly into whatever comprised the background.

“Hey, you waited for me."

“Slave-driver, huh?"

“What?"

“Mr. Bluhm."

“Oh...I thought he was okay."

Zach snorted. “Really!? I can hear you two y'know. You got his preemptive telling-off for handing in work on time."

“Is that a thing he does a lot?"

“New kids only. Wouldn't make sense to talk to local kids that way. Unless they're reprobates."

“Yeah, sorry...you're right. I don't know why I asked." I think I'm just tired...today, yesterday...

Hang on—

“Reprobates?" Donnie asked, intrigued by his companion's choice of words.

“Yeah. Drink, drugs. Sin. Stuff you suffer in hell for. Not my words — my dad's." He shrugged, as if to assure his friend he was no zealot.

“I suppose."

“About half the class is up to no good on the regular. The other half doesn't care for academic advancement. That's why Mr. Bluhm is so irritable about good students, and keeping 'em good."

“Weird."

Donnie and his new friend started walking.

“Lucky you got me," he beamed, taking Donnie's arm and leading him toward the school gates, “there's nobody better to have as a study buddy!"

“You guys don't actually call it that 'round here, do you? I mean...out loud..."

“What? Embarrassed? Think you're gonna get bullied 'cause of it?"

He sighed. “Just...don't say it near my older brother."

Departing the school in high spirits, Donnie was quick to affirm his friendship with Zach. The young man, despite his feeble claims to the contrary, was quite straight-edged. He didn't like drinking; then again, neither did Donnie (one too many late nights in Jacob's company put him clean off the pastime). He disapproved of recreational drug use, which Donnie lacked a concrete opinion on. Would it be the end of their camaraderie if he dared cavort with Mary Jane? Who knew? He wasn't planning on hitting anything anyway, so it all ended up a moot point. The real kicker was their differing opinions on books. While he read, Donnie did not care (not even a little) for the massive bricks that masqueraded as fantasy 'novels' that Zach showed him when he visited. He saw no purpose to the endless reams of pages, stuffed to bursting with useless descriptions of alien lands, and suspiciously teen-appealing blank slate protagonists, that Zach so ferociously poured over — or never ceased to shut up about.

Now that was a potential deal-breaker!

On the bright side: they both liked video games. So there was common ground after all. Huzzah, their friendship is safe! All thanks to their mutual love of simulated ultra-violence, with Zach's father none the wiser to his son's more...bloodied taste in entertainment.

As the day dwindled, and he finished his whistle-stop tour of Zach's abode, Donnie grew restless. It wasn't long before night's curtain wrapped the whole town in its veil. That meant coming home. Coming home and explaining to his family why he and Cynthia tarried. God, mom's gonna be pissed with us spending all this time away. Even if Kianna pretends it's no big deal, I don't trust her.

She won't tell anyone, he told himself, fretting over his relationship with his sister, no...she wants it secret for some reason.

His head hurt when he thought about her. Alone, and finding his way home after bidding farewell to Zach, he cradled his pain-stricken skull and groaned. His chest warmed, and he recalled the glowing strands that extended from Kianna's palm, flowing from his heart. My soul.

The shroud of forgetfulness, cast on him to protect her true machinations, dissipated. A pleasant feeling washed over him. His worry faded, along with the thin thread of suspicion.

In the distance a light flickered. Not a street-lamp, or the headlight of a passing car. No, a rich, orange glow, undulating in the dark. He could see it, even when his eyes were closed.

Cynthia.

His mind was abuzz with activity.

Secrets. What delectable secrets...

* * *

The house was uncomfortably packed. A bevvy of strangers walked to-and-fro, often with cleaning supplies or miscellaneous household accoutrements underarm. Cynthia followed them as they worked.

Who were these people?

From the upper floor a ravenous vacuum cleaner roared, while two guys pushed brooms across the kitchen floor downstairs. They didn't speak, and appeared to ignore her presence completely, even after numerous shoulder-taps and loud coughing.

She felt lost.

She got the right house, hadn't she?

“Mom?"

Her tentative voice carried up the stairs, ignored by the busy strangers. No answer. A second attempt saw her raise the volume.

Still no luck.

Behind her the front door opened. Turning quickly, she was confronted with her brother Donnie — now looking very unsure at the sight of the many people present.

“Donnie!"

“Hey...sis," he said, squinting. “Is there something going on?"

“I—erhm—don't know."

He closed the door and moved to her side. The pair scanned their surroundings.

“Who are—?"

“I don't know!" Her fast response made him stumble. The others weren't paying the smallest bit of attention to them. He pressed against her.

“I—"

Cynthia interrupted him, her hair sent flying in a wide swipe as she came face-to-face with her little brother: “how was school?"

“Oh, yeah...nothing to complain about." His words grew apart, disappointment punctuating each syllable. “Homework. Great to have that in my life again!" he chirped, struggling to hide the dryness of his remark.

“I missed you today," he continued. A thud signalled the fall of his schoolbag onto the recently-cleaned floor. He kicked the unwelcome object into the corner, his eyes never once leaving his sister's.

“I did too." Cynthia smiled. She graced him with a soft brush of his temple. “There's only so much exploring on main street I could do to keep my mind off it."

“Should we talk about it?" he ventured, whispering.

“Do we need to?"

Seeing the conflict wrack his fresh face made her share his pain. It sat in her heart, squatting on an otherwise pleasant feeling of attraction. She hadn't stopped thinking about them. Together. What they did at Kianna's. But there was no regret, none to be found in her heart when she went looking. In fact: the opposite. Did he share her thoughts? No, his nervousness told her as much.

A hand lay upon his chest. It pressed faintly, enough to sense his beating within. “No, we don't," she said. “It's something special between us now."

Donnie touched her hand. “Special..."

The time for such closeness was at an end, however, as the hustle and bustle of the strangers in their house reached a crescendo. Three (no, four) people stomped down the stairs carrying a rolled-up carpet, storming past the siblings — almost knocking Donnie to the ground.

Jacob entered from the other end of the hall. Cynthia stared intently. Donnie looks toward his brother with a fatigued expression.

“Hey, you're back! Mom said you were out visiting someone."

“Yep," they said. Cynthia approached him, smirking.

Jacob grinned. “Right back at ya, sis!"

She knew he was different. Deep in her consciousness, it fought with Kianna's influence, diminishing her spell.

When did Jacob get so buff? she pondered, her mind mulling over his altered mass. She did a very good job of keeping her thoughts to herself, as Donnie tragically missed the changes obvious in his asshole of a big brother.

Her younger sibling stared at the floor. Uncomfortable. She paid him little heed.

I wonder will he notice?

“So," she said, “place is awful busy. You know anything 'bout that?"

Jacob grunted. “We've hired some help around the house...just for the moment, until things are fully settled in."

“Where's the money for this?" Donnie interjected.

Jacob tapped his nose. “We've got ways, bro."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but his brother walked away from them. Another person — a woman — was by the dining table, arranging sliced meats on a plate, among other consumables. She looked up at him with a vacant, yet loyal expression. Donnie watched his brother stare longingly in the direction of the table, though whether the woman or his prospective meal was the object of his wordless affection he wasn't sure.

Jacob called over to them: “you want something to eat? Millie here's gone and put together a nice selection. Cold cuts. But I can handle the cooking myself if you want some heated."

“Um, no. We're fine," they replied. “Is mom not making dinner?" Donnie added.

Jacob shook his head. “Busy with the help."

The help?

Their brother tucked in, devouring every morsel of food in front of him. To the point where Millie hand-fed him after the plate had been scoured clean of sustenance. And that was a lot of food. Three meals' worth.

Think of the calories you need, he can't have gained all that in under a week, gym or no gym, thought Cynthia. Although, seeing him eat...

Forget it. I don't know enough about the science of exercise.

The two siblings thought it best to leave Jacob with his doting 'friend'. Nearing the stairway after leaving him to gorge, they passed members of the hard-working crew. “Kinda young, aren't they?" her younger brother ventured.

“Hmm?"

“All these people. They're our age!"

“Yeah, I noticed that when we came in." Cynthia paused, scrunching her face. “Must be a part-time thing."

“I still don't know how we're paying for this. Moving house for sure emptied the bank account!"

“Doesn't add up — you're right. Maybe when we see mom we'll ask her."

Donnie snorted. “Yeah sure, after she gets done tearing us a new one for staying over at Kianna's!"

“I'm sure she's okay with it." She bit her lip, finding those words particularly hard to articulate. As if her throat constricted...closing the airway in defiance. She realised why:

Mom.

Why did she feel that way? Thinking about her mother sent a shiver down her spine. Kianna! Kianna had said something...something to her...

She knew it was to do with Uma.

She could see the conversation repeat in her mind, but the content was missing. The words. The sounds. Playing over and over like a silent film without the inter-titles.

Cynthia was nervous. Maybe Donnie was right to worry. But why?

The door handle shook, causing them to jump with fright. It swung open, granting the hurried figure of Michael entry. He ran into the pair, blindly grasping for the staircase mid-topple as a volley of surprised shrieks spewed from his brother and sister.

Thump!

* * *

“Hey, sorry 'bout knocking you guys over." Michael sipped from a glass of water almost apologetically, his brow raised. The three siblings moved from the kitchen into the dining room. Many of their 'guests' had departed in the meantime, leaving a skeleton crew to tend the family home.

Jacob sat at the table, watching them.

“Hey Mikey!"

“Hey, uh, Jacob. You're here..."

They sat with him. All four Eriksson children together.

“What's up?"

“Nothing really." Michael kept watch over his brother's body language. Jacob sat high in the chair, arms folded, rigidly upright.

“Sure, sure," he goaded, “nothin' up. Like I believe that!"

“Believe what you want, 'cause I'm telling the truth."

He perched forward, his upper half hanging over the table. A hair's breadth from Michael, he spoke softly: “any change since—"

“Jacob, dear! I need you for a moment!" Uma's voice boomed through the hall. Jacob's head hung low. He chuckled, shaking from side-to-side.

“I'm not hearing an answer honey!" Their mother's delightfully sing-song tone accosted them a second time. Jacob reclined fully, before turning in the direction of the noise.

“WILL DO!" he roared back. Hands clasped over ears among those in close proximity.

Jesus that was loud! the others collectively swore under-breath.

“Oh," came more shouting from upstairs, “and let the rest of our helpers go. They're finished for today."

Jacob drew himself to his full height. With nothing sterner than a nod he motioned to the young adults in the background. They dispersed, removing the last unknown servant from their midst.

“See you around, yeah?" he said to Michael. Then, he winked.

Their brother's footsteps gradually fading away, the three huddled close to one another. Michael cast a leery eye over his shoulder, ever wary of eavesdropping. His sister and kid brother appeared more relaxed.

“Something's going on with mom...and Jacob too," he said. “Something strange."

Cynthia whistled. “No kidding."

“Are you absolutely sure?" Donnie asked.

“Course I am! Have you taken a look at them lately? Have you seen the dog!?"

Dog? He went quiet. “I—I don't get it."

Michael let out a tired laugh. “Open you god-damned eyes Donnie! Of course there's something shitting wrong!"

Their sister called for calm. “Donnie, what Mikey is trying to say is that they've, um, changed. Physically. I can see it. Mikey sees it. I don't know why you're ignoring the elephant in the room, but it's true!" Her recent memories were clouded, but she felt a comforting sense of familiarity discussing the peculiar goings-on. Donnie was reluctant to say it, but even he, underneath the denial, knew something was up.

She reached over to his hand, stroking the ridge of his knuckles with her thumb.

“You're right sis. He does look different." The glowing sensation that'd emanated from Kianna's palm on his chest returned, and when he glanced at his sister he saw her brighten. “Thanks, I s'pose."

“No problem," she said, a sinister note present in the curve of her lip. She looked at Michael, returning to a neutral expression, then Donnie again, her smirk flattened.

Michael spoke: “all three of us know they're different. The question is how and why."

“How do we actually know they look...I dunno...uh...bigger?" Donnie fumbled in his seat. “J-Jacob's gone."

“Pay attention to mom. Or Jacob. When you already know they've changed, you'll see the truth."

“How did you find out?" he asked Michael, who was taken aback by the question.

“Whaddya mean 'how did I find out'? Same as you guys most likely. How did you find out?"

They stopped talking. Tension gripped the room.

“Kuh—Kianna," he mumbled.

Michael nodded. A groan escaped him. “Kianna."

Donnie scratched his head. That woman's words were powerful, and they persisted, dwelling in the recesses of his mind. Even now they crawled, suggesting. “Hey, maybe she can help explain! She knows a helluva a lot more than she's telling. We each know the way there!"

Smirking, Cynthia felt teased by a rush of recollection. She does know. She knows it all.

“No!" Michael glared at them. “I ain't setting another foot in that place. And I've got good reason not to!" He subconsciously gripped his phone, sitting snug in his pocket, pictures he'd taken of many pages from old, worm-eaten books stored securely within its electronic shell.

“And I bet if you see her now," he said, fixated on Donnie's reddening complexion, “with your eyes open you'll see the same thing as with mom, or Jacob, or the fucking dog!"

“What's she like?"

Michael paused. Cynthia repeated herself. He tried to find an answer but failed.

“W-what do you mean?"

His sister spoke slowly, drawing out each word, replete with sarcasm. “What is mom like? When you see her with eyes 'open'..."

“Find out for yourself."

“Is she taller? Jacob's grown. Has she?"

Michael sighed. “Go and do your own sleuthing and leave me the fuck alone! I already spent enough time in this madhouse, I—" he choked back the memory of that night...in his mother's arms. “I need time to process everything. There's stuff...n-not good stuff...I, um...I need to...so keep your questions to yourselves!"

Cynthia growled. “Lay off, alright? It's not like it's a mortal sin to be curious!"

He slammed his palm on the table, startling Donnie.

“You wanna talk about sin? Do you really want to bring that word up in my presence?"

“Yeah, sure. Sin-sin-sin-sin-sin! Doesn't matter, none of us believe in God, Heaven, or Hell — so why are you so tetchy all of a sudden?"

He mulled over his next move. The sharp gaze of his sister clashed with Donnie's concern. He laughed bitterly.

“I know what you did."

“..."

“I saw it happen, in Kianna's bed. Of all places..."

Donnie shrank into his shoulders. Cynthia's jaw dropped. “Mikey," she stammered, “it's not—"

“Are you INSANE!? What if someone finds out!"

“Yuh—you're not...mad?"

“What? Of course I'm...I...I don't know..." He straightened his shoulders. “I do know you're playing with fucking fire!"

Emotions were running high. He lowered his voice, hoping his outburst hadn't attracted attention from upstairs.

“You did a bad thing. A very bad thing that no-one should ever know about."

So did I.

Michael twisted in his chair, biting his cheek. The pain distracted, but 'twas merely temporary. He rubbed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “No one should know!"

“She only wanted to help," Donnie blurted out.

“Help how?"

“We weren't forced!" he cried.

“Oh, but she had a hand in it, yeah?"

It took some wrangling, but he got them to admit she did get involved in their lovemaking, helping them see each other in a different light. He never revealed how much of it he saw, and from what vantage point, but there were no secrets anymore — bar his own.

“She talked you into it?"

“Please don't laugh," she said, “but even though it sounds silly...it was kinda magical."

Michael shut his mouth. He would perform this favour for her, since she asked nicely.

Donnie raised his voice: “Kianna made us discover feelings we had lying dormant. Already inside us. Just needing a push." His hand danced near to Cynthia's, skirting — but never touching — her form. He moved away, the chair under him creaking.

“Agh, enough! Stop bringing it up! It's bad enough I have to carry my own burden, but knowing yours...eugh!" Reluctantly, he put his trust in their telling. “I believe you. The family's fucked, and there's more than enough that I can't explain. I believe what you're saying."

“Burden."

“Hm?"

Cynthia huffed. “Why did you call it a burden? It's not weighing us down. Call it sin, call it whatever you like, but it's not a burden. It's...ahem...love."

“Okay, okay! I won't say anything else! It's done. You can't undo it. I can't un-see it. Finito!"

“And by the way: what burden of yours are you talking about?"

Ssshhhiittt, let that one slip without noticing! He breathed slowly. His face turned white. “I can't tell you."

“Really, eh? After what we told you it's the least you could give back to the group."

“Group?" he chuckled. “The three of us aren't god-damn Ghostbusters! There's no group. No team either, 'case you think using another word'll fool me."

“Tell us. Donnie and I deserve it. How else do we trust you?"

“I'm not saying a word of what happened to me. The only scrap I'll let you in on is this: right now I don't have the wits about me to tell if what I did was better or worse than what you did."

Cynthia pointed an accusing finger at her brother. “It's worse."

Michael shook his head angrily. Easy, easy, he chastised himself, now is not the time to lose it...not with mom and Jacob home. Bet they'd love to see me getting angry.

His sister's gaze bored into him, his soul bared for her blazing eyes, piercing him and twisting — two ethereal drills spinning, scouring his defences. “It's wo-orse," she mocked, her words sickeningly sharp.

“No wonder there's no trust among us," he said.

“Oh, us? We're a group again?"

“Shut up."

Before their verbal sparring reached the point of fisticuffs (yes, that has happened before!), Donnie interrupted them with a sudden, frantic bleat:

“Is dad involved?"

Both yammering heads spun 'round to look at him. Michael and Cynthia shared an insecure glance.

“Dad...?"

“Yeah, dad. It's been days. Do you know if he has anything to do with our family's...with our..."

“Curse. Call it a curse, 'cause that's what it looks like. What it sounds like. And fuck me if it doesn't smell as rotten as one!"

Donnie continued: “—our c-curse?"

“Has anyone called him?" Cynthia asked. “To see if he's okay?"

“He's fine, I'm sure of it." Michael rubbed his forehead. “He left in a hurry though; his phone is in mom's room."

“Do you have his work number?"

“No..."

“No."

“Seriously!? On none of our phones?"

Cynthia checked hers. Her expression dropped with her mood. “Crap."

“I'll say!"

“E-mail?"

“Work only."

“Shoot."

“So it's just us then," Donnie said, “us three."

Michael and Cynthia looked at each other. “I don't know what happening," Michael sighed, “or what that means for us. We need to keep our eyes peeled for anything strange or startling."

“I'll make a list," Cynthia grumbled, already tired of the otherworldly. Kianna's half-remembered words dug themselves deeper, hiding beneath her skin, waiting to surface at an inopportune time, and tease.

“No but for real, stay safe. Stay aware."

The three 'normal' Erikssons rose from the table, relieved their conversation remained a secret. The house was quiet. Nothing but the odd bump of wood expanding as the temperature shifted for the night. Structural groans echoed past them as the chorus of a dead forest reigned.

Watching his brother and sister leave, the knowledge of their sin forever a part of him, gave Michael cause for concern. It's inside all of us, he surmised, no matter where it came from it's in us now.

Inescapable.

...

Sin.

He heard a clatter. It was Axel, sitting in the doorway — that awning chasm guarded only by a thin piece of glazed window. The backyard was invisible in the encroaching dark, but the once-amicable pet did not share in that property.

Beady, red dots followed him. The creature from hell, its disguise faltering, studied its lesser master.

It's a curse.

Our curse.

He closed his eyes, and fought dark thoughts.

The family curse.