Seven months pregnant, I agreed to house-sit for my brother and sister-in-law while they went on vacation. It seemed like a simple favor, but what I found in their basement that afternoon sent me running for my life, and it still haunts me to this day.

“Run, faster, Celina!” a voice screamed in my head as I stumbled through the thick woods behind my brother’s mansion. Panting for air, I clutched my swollen belly with one hand while using the other to push away the branches scratching at my face. How could I have been so trusting? How did I not see this coming?

My trembling hands, sticky with drying blood, reminded me of the horror I had just witnessed. Wiping them on my dress, I whispered, “We’re safe now, baby. Someone will help us soon.”

It all started two weeks ago…

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when my brother Victor called.

“Hey, Celina! How’s my favorite sister?” he asked cheerfully. “Listen, Anne and I are going out of town for a wedding and vacation. Any chance you or Paul could house-sit for us?”

Before I could respond, I heard Anne on the other line. “Oh, Celina, you’ll love staying here! Don’t worry about anything; the house practically runs itself,” she said, her voice overly sweet.

I hesitated. Our relationship had been strained lately. Ever since Paul’s business took off and our financial situation improved, things had been tense. Victor and Anne had struggled with failed ventures, and I could see the pressure it was putting on them.

It didn’t help that Anne’s reaction to my pregnancy had been lukewarm. While the rest of the family celebrated, she barely acknowledged it and even skipped our gender reveal party. I knew she and Victor had been trying for years to have a baby with no success. I figured my pregnancy was a reminder of something she longed for but couldn’t have.

But despite my reservations, I wanted to believe this was her way of patching things up. “Sure, I’d be happy to help,” I replied, hope creeping into my voice.

The morning I arrived, Victor greeted me warmly, but Anne’s forced smile lingered. “Everything you need is inside,” she said before they left for the airport.

For the first few days, nothing unusual happened. I spent most of my time watching Netflix and chatting with Paul. But by the fourth morning, I decided to check on the furnace in the basement.

That’s when I saw the three garbage bags tucked away in the corner. “Weird,” I thought, snapping a picture to send to Anne with a lighthearted message: “Forgot to take the trash out?”

Almost immediately, my phone exploded with notifications. Anne texted me, panicked: “DON’T TOUCH THEM! GET OUT OF THE BASEMENT NOW.”

Confused, I called her. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just leave,” she snapped. “Don’t look inside those bags.”

But my curiosity got the better of me. I untied one of the bags and what I saw froze me in terror. Voodoo dolls. Dozens of crude, handmade dolls, each one with my face on it. Some were stained with what looked like dried blood, and the smell of decay filled the air.

Panicking, I called Paul. “I need you to come get me,” I gasped.

“Get out of the house, now!” Paul urged.

I bolted out the door, running through the woods to the bus stop. Minutes later, Paul arrived, helping me into the car. As we sped away, I told him everything.

The next few days were a blur of fear and disbelief. When Victor and Anne returned, we confronted them. Anne eventually admitted she had been trying to curse me out of jealousy for my pregnancy.

Victor was horrified and filed for divorce. As for me, I’m still processing the betrayal. But through it all, Paul and I remain strong, and our baby is healthy. Still, I’ll never forget what I found in that basement.