Prologue
The first girl died in 1847.
They found her kneeling beside the river at dawn.
Her white nightdress floated on the surface of the black water while her body remained perfectly still among the reeds. Her hands were clasped together as though she had been praying.
But there was no prayer.
Only blood.
Thin streams of it ran from her eyes.
The villagers said her face looked peaceful.
Her mother said otherwise.
Because when she touched her daughter’s shoulder, the girl whispered:
“Don’t let it take Annie.”
Then she smiled.
And her jaw split open.
The scream that followed echoed across the riverbanks for years.
That was how the curse began.
Or at least…
That was the lie the family chose to remember.
