1:30 P.M.

Henry reached to start the engine when a screech bellowed from the WitcLand Retirement facility doors. Startled by the sudden out cries, he involuntary left the safety of his car to investigate.

Upon entering the doors, cries grew heavier and more pronounce. Nurses (male and female) ran back and forth from every room, interpreting this as being their way of checking on the residents during an emergency. What's gotten them all so bent out of shape?

Henry followed one nurse, with no particular reason, to the end of the hallway – the pale stained large tile positioned just opposite the door labeled bathroom, gleamed in the gloss of sore-tinged ointment. Henry had gotten closer and closer to the scene to where he could peak inside the open door while medical assistance was running in and out.

He hushed his hysterics, clamping his mouth shut and the sensation washed from a wail at the sight displayed in brutal fashion in front of him.

Shards of broken glass surrounding the body, sitting up-right against the even softer wall, limped over as if quietly sleeping was the nurse Sunny.

Presuming to have cut her own wounds by self-infliction from what he gathered by the chatter from the others surrounding her, yet Henry knew something more sinister had played a key role in this; especially with the oddly large blackened print curving around the left shoulder of her uniform.

That had not been his mother to have caused her death; her hands were rather small, if he recalled.

How would this nurse grab her own shoulder like that, unless she was a very gifted contortionist? It has been known that once a subject has been channeled, they or it are more acceptable to other possessions. It would explain why Sunny left the room so abruptly, that piece of crap wanted to shut any further conversation to be had with her or his mom.

He got his wish.

Pursing his lips to let no one be aware of his presence – giving the fact that he had been chatting with this nurse not fifteen or twenty minutes ago. He casually backed away; just short of a hasty power walk down the busy hallway.

A side glance at a chance opened room, called his attention as he caught the sight of an elder resident standing; the face he'd dreamt that night had contorted upon this poor individual face; slowly waving as Henry passed by. There it was – confirming what he had already deciphered. Sunny was a mere innocent in this incredibly useless curse crap.

Making it back to his nearly ten-year-old Chevrolet Blazer LS, he guzzled down lesions willing themselves up through his esophagus; breathing in puffs of air to alleviate the temptation of just leaning out the side of the car. He quickly grabbed the scrapbook to distract the insisting purging, turning page after page until he came to a screeching halt when noticing standing next to his mom, was his Grandmother, and a gentle looking guy he had no idea who to be. Flipping the picture over it read: Me, Mom and brother Brady.

His eyes shot over the picture and into the parking lot. "Brother?"

He was my uncle?

If he squinted even harder and looked even closer, he could make out the beginning of something metal in his moms' hand! It was the friggin' piece he had sitting in his lap right now. This was nearly seventy years ago.

It had been his moms hand writing. Was this her way of letting me know she had started the tablet back then? Had she known what he was going to do before he succeeded?

With all the research circling him like a dozen buzzards; the answer was sitting there on the tip of his mind. He fumbled for that obituary he had seen earlier. Scrambling through the little excerpt about him; with the conclusion of cause of death being cited as drowning.

He remembered his mom vaguely speaking about him. She abruptly said one thing: he had killed himself. That's all he knew.

According to the material that was read earlier at the library, that's how most curses get started – a tortured spirit wanting to undo his, or their maddening and chaotic descend; perhaps he wanted help.

He won't ever really know that for sure, but knew he needed to protect his love ones, today.

Brady's nor his moms' actions were not his past, but of their own making. This would end by nightfall.

Looking back over everything laying spread out in front of him; there was another piece of the puzzle hidden beneath a few more random family pictures: some pages that looked as if they had been ripped from an older, yellowing book.

The questionable pages held a few more burning unanswered enquiries; ones to which he may have wanted to keep unknown.

He finally understood the reason why his mom made this piece; she was intending to help appease Brady's restless soul and bring it to peace, just after his untimely death.

She engraved the Talmadge name along with the incantation for pacifying the recently deceased onto the thin metal. The only problem with the things she had underlined was that she never actually put this piece where it was meant to be; it looked as though she had only recently learned how the defixione really worked giving the date written onto last piece of paper; one week before she died.

"Oh... mom." Henry moaned. "He got to you before you could stop him!"

She had Sunny place it a few inches above his grave site, to keep Brady's spirit there; to protect them or Henry himself, but in doing so, inadvertently opened the doors even wider. To her own demise, she had forgotten to place the full name onto the piece as well. Meaning that the name was too vague to give his soul any kind of peaceful means, or to wherever it was meant to go.

With her out of the way; and Henry ignorant enough to take it even out of the yard; every Talmadge after Brady's death had been able to leave if they had in fact died of some sort of tragic or shortened lifespan.

Henry may be the last of his bloodline; but the scribbled wording had the opposite effect as they all were free to do as they pleased with this no longer near the yard; to have revenge for being bound to this yard for so long.

Vengeful or malevolent spirits wreaking havoc would be just as much on him than solely on his mother. He must get it back to that yard but first he must fix the mistake; place the full name of the intended spirit onto the metal.

4:30 P.M.

"Andrew, I know you are worried and with all the crap that's being going on lately... just know that my life never started until the day I laid my eyes on you." His crackled a bit, wanting to keep any emotion from pouring unconditionally through the voicemail. "I need you... I miss you... I love you, always." With that last word, he couldn't hold much of a voice as he pressed the end call on his smart phone.

Do this for him; for them. This isn't supposed to be their problem, let alone, his – but here he sat at the gates of the Ward Memorial Park.

With a sigh and silent prayer being made he grabbed two things: a shovel and the newly adapted piece. He had brought it back home – where it should have been all these years; perhaps his mother would've stayed longer if this had been done properly years ago. But all that must be forgiven, as all has been laid out in a clear path up to this point; everything happens for reason, right?

"Here we go." He exhaled.

6:00 P.M.

An hour of digging and digging till he felt that the shovel could've hit Beijing's bottom; he finally hit a pine box.

Of course, at the exact same moment, the sky opened up and began pouring a monsoon. "Really?" he exclaimed towards the damp sky. "You couldn't have waited like another ten minutes or so?"

Grappling at the lid with the shovel head, he pushed; he pulled; he stomped onto the handle until the damn wood cave to the pressure. Henry looked squarely at the bones of the man responsible for all the pandemonium forced onto him since losing his mom; and the possibility of losing yet more hearts he loved angered him to the core.

"You're done." He spat. Pulling out the item from his inner coat pocket, he fondled the thing to see if he had made all the correct corrections to it but in doing so, a sudden roar crackled along with the thunder; quickly peeking his head eye level to the grassy top, his pupils grew large as an obscene amount of water was rushing towards him and the open grave.

Stepping onto an end of the unbroken section of coffin, he heaved up as much as his tired arms would allow. With one leg lifting onto solid ground, he had gotten almost up enough to make a run for the higher slope of hill not far to his right.

A firm grip seized him from further progress, as the mud beneath him began caving back into the plot. Falling onto the fractured box with such force, pieces of bone and wood splattered all around him, just in time for his puppy browns to catch the sputter of an enormous waterfall of debris and liquid to swirl into the hole.

Filling quickly, he hadn't realized a splintered bone had pierced into his thigh until trying to lift it to swim above the murky water. He couldn't break free from the bone as it was underneath the weight of a large oak branch; struggling to get out; to inhale pure air; the fear to die of drowning cradled the moments of lasting breath.

He accepted that he had done the job he had set out to do; to destroy this curse; to stop the others from projecting their fiery monsoon onto any other families... ah, his family.

Andrew... Cat... Connell... I love you all so much...

His lungs had taken as much as they could; he released the tension and let the water flow freely as it was meant to. His eyes finally closing out the irregular shots of lightening spearing above the waters surface.

"My sweet little boy... you are not meant to be here just yet." Her voice breaking the silence.

Never peering eyelids open, he could only hear her. "Mom... I tried." He pleaded.

"I couldn't be prouder my son... I've always been proud of you and the family you created."

"I miss you." he began sobbing.

"All of us will be together again... go be with the wonderful husband and adorable kids."

His eyes flitted open to a broad starlight sky. He squinted liquid from blurring his focus. Suddenly, the hazel eyes he had fell into long ago, appeared above him. The eyes of his angel; the heart that saved his own from decaying even further into blackness, was here.

"Hey beautiful." He soothed. "You with me?"

"Andrew..." He began. "... you're here?"

"After I heard your voicemail, which by the way, don't ever leave such a cryptic message like that again... I knew where you were going." He said helping Henry up to stand.

Henry looked around only to find that the hole he had made was covered completely with fresh dirt and slightly wet mud. He tilted his head in confusion. "Did you do that?" Henry asked.

"Do what?" Andrew quipped.

Henry huffed in a smiling relief. "I guess nothing."

"Let's go home." Andrew suggested.

"Please." Henry pleaded shaking his head yes.

8:45 P.M.

Watching their dads walk from the garage door and into the kitchen, Connell and Cat had been waiting there impatiently since Andrew had called them from the car on their way home, steadily pacing themselves as they heaved themselves into Henry's already open arms. "Ah... my sweet babies." He professed.

"You finawy home, Poppy." Connell spoke. "... we haf a moobie to wuch." He added.

Cat only rolled her eyes at her younger brothers failed attempts at the English language but smiled at all his odd pronunciations.

"Alright... well, go get it ready." Henry declared, standing back from his squat. Turning to Andrew, he threw his arms around him desperately; happy to have his family here, alive and well.

Suddenly as he had flushed with every ounce of love one could muster into one hug, a sound of flapping jammed his ear and a flutter caught his eye, as it landed onto the glass of the mounted microwave.