The funeral wrapped up fast after the interruption, though nobody felt the closure they had come for. The speaker had ruined that. A few of us stayed behind, trying to shake off the unease as we searched the area, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain how the speaker ended up beneath the casket. But, as usual, there was nothing. No tracks, no signs, no stray pieces of evidence that could give us a hint about who had done this. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air after leaving that final, cruel touch.
We called the police, though none of us expected much from it. They showed up, took the cheap Bluetooth speaker as evidence, and combed the cemetery grounds like they’d done at my parents’ house months earlier. They asked the same questions, looked around with the same blank expressions, but came to the same dead end. No one saw anything. No one had noticed anyone strange lurking around. And, like before, they had no leads.
I handed over my phone, showing them the newest emails I’d received. The string of garbled senders, the cryptic messages, the threats hidden in plain sight—it was all there. I even included the traffic cam footage I’d managed to pull, a shaky glimpse of a shadowy figure that was too grainy to make out. It was something, but it wasn’t much. The officers took notes, promised to follow up, but I could already tell they didn’t expect to find anything.
And honestly, neither did I. Just like every other time, I knew nothing would come of it. Whoever was doing this knew exactly how to stay out of sight. They were watching, always watching, and no matter what we did, we were always one step behind.
During the wake, my brother and I found a quiet moment to approach our mother, knowing we couldn’t wait any longer. We had talked about it before—how we would tell her everything that had been happening, everything we’d kept to ourselves for too long. We couldn’t let her be in the dark anymore, not with things spiraling like this.
I glanced at my brother, and he gave me a nod, his face tense. We had agreed to be honest with her about Patricia. She needed to know.
“Mom,” I began quietly, trying to ease into it, “there’s something we’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Her tired eyes shifted from the guests in the room to us, sensing the seriousness in my voice. “What is it?” she asked softly, her expression already worried.
I swallowed hard, glancing again at my brother for support before continuing. “We think… we think something might’ve happened with Patricia. Something that wasn’t just an accident.”
Her face fell, the color draining slightly. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“We’re not sure,” my brother added quickly, stepping in to soften the blow, “but there’s been too many strange things happening. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
I hesitated, then spoke the words I knew she’d hate to hear. “I think it might be Roger. From your biological family.”
She blinked, confusion washing over her face as she tried to process what we were saying. “Roger? But... I don’t understand. Why would he do something like this?”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. We don’t even know him. But he’s the only person connected to all this that we haven’t met, and ever since I reached out to him… things have gotten worse.”
My mother’s hands trembled slightly as she brought them to her mouth, her eyes brimming with guilt. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt,” she said, her voice breaking. “This was never supposed to happen. All I wanted was to find where I came from. I didn’t mean for any of this... I didn’t—” She stopped, her words caught in her throat as she fought back tears. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
I could see the weight of it crushing her, the belief that she had somehow caused all of this by simply searching for her past. It broke my heart to see her like that, and my brother and I were quick to jump in.
“Mom, no,” I said firmly, grabbing her hand. “This is not your fault. There are creeps on the internet, no matter where you go. This madness has nothing to do with you trying to connect with your past. You couldn’t have known.”
My brother nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You just wanted to learn about your roots, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We couldn’t have seen this coming, and it’s not because of anything you did.”
She shook her head, wiping away a stray tear. “But if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t started all this with the genealogy stuff, none of this would’ve happened. Patricia might still be here.”
“That’s not true,” I said, squeezing her hand gently. “There’s no way you could’ve known. Whoever is doing this—whether it’s Roger or someone else—they’ve got their own twisted reasons. None of it has to do with you trying to find your family.”
She stayed quiet for a long moment, her shoulders slumped with the weight of it all. “I just... I feel so responsible.”
My brother leaned in, his voice soft but insistent. “You’re not responsible for this, Mom. We’re going to figure it out, but you can’t carry this on your own. We’ll handle it together.”
She nodded, though I could tell the guilt still lingered in her eyes. We stood with her for a while longer, the three of us huddled in a small corner of the room as the wake carried on around us. My mother’s sorrow was palpable, but so was our determination to protect her, to figure out who was behind this nightmare.
I took a deep breath and looked down at the floor before admitting the thing I had been keeping from her. “Mom,” I began slowly, “I need to tell you something. I reached out to Roger when we first joined the genealogy site. I just... I wanted to connect with him, with someone from your side of the family. But he never responded.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.
“That was months ago,” I said, “and still nothing from him on the site. But now—these emails? I think it’s him, mocking me. He’s been sending me messages ever since I reached out. I didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t say anything earlier, but I think this all started because of that. Because of me.”
I felt the weight of those words as they settled between us, but my mother’s reaction wasn’t what I expected. Instead of fear, her face softened into something close to determination. “Well, if Roger’s the one behind this,” she said, her voice steady, “then I’m going to reach out to him myself. It’s time we get this sorted out.”
My stomach dropped. “Mom, no,” I said, more forcefully than I intended. “You can’t. Reaching out to him started all of this. We can’t escalate it.”
She shook her head, brushing off my concern. “Listen, if Roger’s involved at all, it’s probably just some sick joke. He wouldn’t be behind... Patricia’s death. There’s no way. But if he did play a part in what happened at the funeral, then I’ll talk to him, get some sense into him. This has gone too far, and I’m going to put an end to it.”
A chill ran up my spine at her words, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Mom, please don’t do that,” I urged. “You don’t understand—me reaching out started all of this. We don’t know what Roger is capable of, and we don’t even know for sure that it is him. I don’t want you getting dragged into this.”
But she wouldn’t back down. “No,” she insisted, her voice unwavering. “I started all of this with the genealogy site, and I’m the one who’s going to end it. If Roger’s involved, I’ll make him see reason. He’s family.”
“Mom, please,” my brother jumped in, his voice tense. “You can’t be sure it’s just a prank. We’re talking about someone who could be watching us, someone who might have done... more than just play a sick joke.”
My mother met his eyes with a stubborn gaze, the same look she always had when she made up her mind about something. “He’s not dangerous,” she said quietly but firmly. “I won’t believe that until I talk to him myself.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died on my tongue. Fear clawed at my chest. I didn’t want her to get involved, but I could see it in her eyes—she was already committed to this. My brother and I exchanged a glance, both of us trying to figure out how to stop her, but the more we pushed, the more resolute she became.
A cold dread settled over me. We had tried to protect her, to shield her from whatever was happening, but now, I feared that by telling her everything, we had inadvertently pushed her straight into the line of fire.
She wasn’t going to back down. And deep down, I knew that nothing we said could stop her from trying to talk to Roger.
No matter what we said, my mother was adamant. She insisted that she could talk sense into Roger, convinced that family could be reasoned with—even if that same family member might be the one responsible for Patricia’s death. Even if that same person might be the one who sabotaged a car, sending it into a busy intersection. But in her mind, there was no one so far gone that they couldn’t be brought back with the right words. She seemed to think that a heart-to-heart could undo all of this madness.
My brother and I tried everything. We explained, again and again, that Roger—if it even was him—was dangerous. That someone who’d been pulling strings from the shadows, someone who could kill chickens, ruin a funeral, maybe even cause a death, wasn’t someone who could be reasoned with. But it didn’t matter. She had already made up her mind. My mother had that familiar look, the one she always got when she was set on something—when there was no point in arguing anymore. She was going to do this, no matter what.
By the time I left, I felt a deep pit of dread in my stomach. Instead of protecting her, I felt like I had just made everything worse by telling her what had transpired. My brother and I thought that by being honest with her, we’d make her understand the seriousness of the situation, that it would convince her to back off. But it had done the opposite. Now she was more involved than ever, determined to fix things her own way. And that terrified me.
On the drive home, my phone rang. It was my brother.
“Yeah?” I answered, already knowing what he wanted to talk about.
“That... that was a train wreck,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t know what the hell we were thinking, telling her everything.”
I sighed, gripping the steering wheel harder than I realized. “I thought it would make her see reason. That if she knew how serious this was, she’d stop.”
“We both know that’s not how Mom works,” he said, his tone bitter. “She’s too stubborn. She’s made up her mind now, and there’s no going back. She’s going to try and reach out to Roger, whether we like it or not.”
“I know,” I muttered. “She thinks she can protect us by confronting him.”
There was a long pause on the line before my brother spoke again. “She’s always been like that—bull-headed and willing to do anything for her family. But trying to reason with some psychopath who’s been screwing with us? It’s not going to end well. It’s insane.”
I swallowed, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down on me. “I just don’t know what to do. If we push harder, she’ll only dig her heels in more. If we let her go through with it... God knows what’ll happen.”
“She’s going to do it,” my brother said grimly. “You know that, right? She’ll reach out to him and think she can fix this. And we can’t stop her.”
The silence on the line felt suffocating. We both knew our mother too well. When she believed in something, she wouldn’t stop—not until she thought she’d made things right. Even if it meant walking straight into danger. I dreaded what might happen when she finally reached out to Roger, when she unknowingly stepped into whatever trap he—or whoever was behind this—had set.
“We need to keep an eye on her,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “We can’t let her do this alone.”
“Agreed,” my brother replied. “We’ll figure something out. But we need to be ready for whatever comes next.”
My brother suggested that I give it another shot in the next few days, try to talk to Mom again—this time, maybe away from the farm, away from the familiar comforts where she might feel more in control. His thinking was simple: if we could get her out of her usual environment, where she wasn’t surrounded by reminders of the situation, she might be more likely to listen to reason.
"Maybe take her to lunch," he said, his voice calmer now, more focused. "Somewhere neutral. Just you, her, and Dad. Get her to relax. Maybe if you catch her when she’s not so wound up, you’ll have better luck."
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me through the phone. "Yeah, I can do that. I’ve got some time off work this week. I’ll take them out, try to get them away from everything."
"Good," my brother replied, sounding relieved. "We’ve got to try something."
That night, I thought about how I would approach it. We had to get her to slow down, to see that this wasn’t a situation she could fix with words or family ties. But knowing my mother, it wouldn’t be easy. Still, I had to try.
The next morning, I picked up the phone and called my parents. My heart raced a little as the phone rang, knowing this conversation could be tricky. My dad picked up, his voice casual.
"Hey, Dad," I said, doing my best to keep things light. "I was wondering if you and Mom would want to meet me for lunch tomorrow. There’s a park near my place—it’s nice out, and I figured it would be good to get out of the house for a bit."
He seemed pleased with the idea. “That sounds nice. Your mother could use a break. She’s been a bit... well, you know how she gets when her mind’s set on something.”
“Yeah,” I said, relieved that he didn’t press too much. “I think a change of scenery would do her some good.”
I could hear the muffled sound of him talking to my mom in the background, and after a brief pause, he came back on the line. “She says it sounds like a good idea. We’ll meet you at the park tomorrow around noon?”
“Perfect,” I replied. “It’ll be good to see you both.”
After I hung up, a weight lifted from my chest, but only slightly. I had set the stage, but tomorrow would be the real test. I hoped that getting them out of the house, away from the farm, might help me talk some sense into her before she did something irreversible.
And all I could do now was wait and hope that tomorrow would go as planned.
I tried to keep the mood light as I offered to order lunch from anywhere they liked. It felt casual, like I was just excited to spend time with them. My mom, as expected, waved off the offer, assuring me that she and Dad were fine and didn’t need any fuss. I played it off as if I just wanted to see them, which was true, but I had other reasons too.
As the afternoon wore on, my parents arrived at the park, right on time. It was one of those rare, perfect spring Saturdays—the sun was shining, there was a warm breeze in the air, and the park was full of people enjoying the weather. The warmth of the day felt almost out of place, given the tension that had been hanging over us all recently.
I’d ordered lunch to be delivered through one of those food delivery apps, and we spread out on a park bench beneath the shade of a tall oak tree. We started with the usual small talk—Dad asking about work, Mom talking about her garden, and a few funny stories about their chickens. But the whole time, the real reason I had asked them here was gnawing at the back of my mind.
Eventually, I couldn’t hold off any longer. I needed to know if she had reached out to Roger, despite everything my brother and I had tried to warn her about.
“Mom,” I started, trying to sound casual, “did you ever send any messages to Roger? You know, to try and talk to him?”
My mother didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, yes. I wrote him a very strongly worded message on the genealogy website,” she said confidently, with a small nod. “I told him everything that’s been happening and let him know that his behavior was unacceptable.”
My heart sank a little, but I did my best to keep my voice steady. “What did you say exactly?”
She waved me off, as if it wasn’t important. “Don’t worry about it. I handled it. I made it clear that whatever game he’s been playing needs to stop immediately. He knows now that we’re not going to tolerate this nonsense.”
I forced a smile, though inside, the dread was growing. “I just... I want to make sure that reaching out didn’t make things worse.”
She looked at me with that familiar determined expression, the one she always had when she thought she had everything under control. “You don’t need to worry about it anymore,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I took care of it.”
Her confidence made my stomach twist. My brother and I had tried to keep her out of this, to protect her from what we feared Roger—or whoever was behind this—was capable of. And now, she was convinced that a few words would make it all go away.
I nodded, playing along, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that her message hadn’t solved anything. If anything, it might have provoked Roger—or whoever was lurking in the shadows—into doing something worse. But for now, I had to hold back my concerns and hope that somehow, we’d be able to get through this without it escalating any further.
I couldn’t let it go. Despite my mom's confidence, a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I had to know exactly what she said, exactly what had transpired. “Mom,” I pressed, my voice firmer this time, “I need to know what you told Roger. What did he say back?”
She gave me an almost exasperated look, as if I were making a big deal out of nothing. “I told you,” she said, “it’s all just a misunderstanding. Roger replied to me.”
My heart sank. I hadn’t expected her to actually hear back from him, especially not so soon. “What did he say?” I asked, my pulse quickening.
She waved her hand again, as if brushing away my worry. “He said he hasn’t been online in years,” she explained, her tone gentle. “He didn’t even know what’s been going on. He said he had nothing to do with any of the strange things that have happened to us.”
My head was spinning. “What? He hasn’t been online in years?” I could barely wrap my mind around it. Everything—the emails, the surveillance, Patricia’s death—I had thought it all pointed back to him. “What else did he say?”
“He told me that he’s had a hard time,” my mom continued, her voice softening as she spoke about him. “He said he was disheartened when he first tried the genealogy site because he couldn’t find any living relatives. Most of his family is gone now, and he gave up after a while. But he said he’s ecstatic to finally hear from someone—me.” She smiled at that, as though she had given him something meaningful. “He wished me and all of us the best with the troubles we’ve been going through.”
I stared at her, my mind racing. I didn’t know what to think. My whole world felt like it was flipping upside down. I had been so sure Roger was behind all of this. The emails, the pictures, the sabotage—it all seemed to fit. And yet, now here was this reply from him, claiming ignorance, expressing happiness to hear from a long-lost relative.
It didn’t make sense. If Roger wasn’t behind this, then who was? Was this really Roger’s doing, or was someone else out there, someone who knew about Roger, using him as a cover? My thoughts were tangled with confusion, doubt creeping in with every passing second. Was Roger telling the truth, or was this just another layer of manipulation?
I glanced at my mother, who was sitting there so calmly, so confident that everything was fine. But deep down, I knew something was still very, very wrong.
The delivery driver texted that they had arrived, so I made my way to the parking lot to meet them. I thanked them for bringing the food and walked back to the park bench where my parents sat, bags of takeout in hand. It felt strange, the normalcy of picking up food after such a heavy conversation. Like the world kept moving on, even though it felt like everything around me was spiraling out of control.
We unpacked our food—burgers for Dad and me, and a bowl of chili for Mom—and settled in to eat under the shade of the oak tree. The sun was still shining, people were milling around the park, and for a moment, it felt like we were just a regular family having lunch together. But the tension still clung to me, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
As we started eating, my parents continued the conversation. My mother was still convinced this was all some big misunderstanding. “You heard what Roger said,” she reminded me between bites of chili. “He’s been offline for years, and he’s happy to hear from us now. I really think we were wrong about him.”
My father nodded, chiming in with his own theory. “Maybe this is just one of your younger cousins playing a prank,” he suggested, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You know how tech-savvy kids are these days. They could easily send fake emails, mess with you for a bit of fun.”
I shook my head, barely able to believe what I was hearing. “Dad, no,” I said firmly. “This isn’t a prank. Whoever is behind this killed Mom’s chickens. And what about Patricia? You really think one of our cousins did all that?”
He sighed, taking a bite of his hamburger before responding. “I think we’re all taking Patricia’s death hard,” he said carefully. “But the police said it was an accident. No one would have done that on purpose.”
I wanted to argue more, to shake them out of this false sense of comfort they were slipping into, but something in my father’s words made me pause. Could he be right? Was I overreacting? Was I letting my fear of the unknown get the better of me? I had been so convinced that Roger was behind everything, but now that he had responded to Mom, I was starting to doubt myself. The pieces didn’t fit anymore, and the certainty I had felt before was starting to crumble.
As I sat there eating my hamburger, staring at my parents happily chatting over lunch, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe it was just a horrible string of coincidences, and I had built it up into something it wasn’t. But then again, I thought of the photos, the emails, the dead chickens. Could all of that really be explained away by a prank or a misunderstanding?
I wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
As I sat there, chewing on my burger, the questions started to loop in my mind. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe Roger, or whoever was behind the emails, wasn’t involved in Patricia’s death after all. Maybe they were just some sick person who found out about the accident and decided to capitalize on it, laughing at my pain rather than causing it in the first place. They could’ve just been opportunistic, feeding off the grief instead of being responsible for it.
But that fleeting moment of doubt vanished in an instant when I heard my mother cough.
At first, it was just a soft, hoarse sound, but when I turned to look at her, I saw the color draining from her face. Her hand reached out shakily for a napkin as the coughs grew more violent. “Mom?” I asked, my voice rising in panic, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she covered her mouth with the napkin and coughed again—harder this time.
Blood. It was smeared across the napkin, a deep, terrifying red. I froze, staring as she pulled the napkin away, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. My father leaned forward, his face going pale as well. "Honey?" he said, his voice trembling, but she only coughed harder.
In the span of a heartbeat, it went from a trickle to something much worse. Blood started to flow freely from her mouth, pooling and spilling onto the napkin, her hands, the table. It was as if a million tiny cuts had opened inside her, tearing through her throat, her esophagus—flooding her with blood.
"Mom!" I shouted, my chair scraping the ground as I bolted up, knocking my food to the side. She was choking on her own blood, her breath coming in gasps between the terrible gurgling sound. Her body was trembling, and my father was at her side, his face a mask of horror.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. The buzzing continued—insistent, mocking—but all I could do was watch in shock as my mother’s hands, now slick with blood, her knuckles white as she struggled for air.
Time seemed to slow down, each second a frozen nightmare as I stood there, helpless, watching the blood flow from her mouth like a dark, terrible waterfall.
My hands fumbled as I clambered to open my phone, the screen blurring as I quickly swiped to see the notification. Another email from the same serialized sender flashed at me, mocking me in that moment of pure horror. But I didn’t have time to open it. My fingers shaking, I dialed 911 again, feeling like I had done this a hundred times before—each time more useless than the last.
“Please! We need an ambulance! My mom—she’s coughing up blood, a lot of it. We’re at the park—near Elm and Birch,” I stammered into the phone, my voice breaking as I struggled to stay calm. I could hear the dispatcher trying to calm me down, asking for more details, but my focus was on the scene in front of me. My father knelt beside my mother, his hands hovering over her, unsure of how to help. His face was ashen, eyes wide with fear and confusion as he tried to comfort her, though he didn’t know what to do. None of us did.
She hunched over in agony, her whole body convulsing with pain as more blood gushed from her mouth. Her skin, once flushed with life, was now pale and clammy. My father tried to lift her, to cradle her, but she fell from her seat, collapsing onto the ground, her body writhing as she wretched violently. Blood continued to pool beneath her, soaking into the grass, the sight so horrific I could hardly process it.
“Please hurry,” I begged the dispatcher, my voice cracking as I described the horror unfolding in front of me. “She’s—she’s not breathing right. We’re at the local park, by the lake. Please send help!”
They assured me an ambulance was on its way, but every second felt like an eternity. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my mother as she struggled for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably. My father was pleading with her, his voice trembling as he held her, blood staining his hands as he tried to do anything—anything at all to stop the nightmare.
By the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late. My mother had stopped breathing, her chest still as the last shuddering cough left her body. The paramedics rushed over, pushing my father aside gently as they started working on her, desperately trying to resuscitate her. I stood there frozen, my mind unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
Minutes dragged on as they worked, but there was nothing they could do. She had lost too much blood.
They loaded her into the ambulance, the sirens blaring as they rushed her to the hospital, but I already knew. I already knew she wasn’t coming back. When we arrived, they told us what we had feared most—my mother was declared dead on arrival.
Later, the doctors explained what they had found. Her esophagus had been shredded by thousands of tiny glass shards, cutting her from the inside out, leaving no chance for her to survive.
I didn’t need to look at the email to know who had done this. Someone had sent us a message, a final, sickening reminder that they were still watching. That they were still in control.
As we sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, the shock of what had just happened hadn’t fully sunk in. My father sat beside me, staring blankly ahead, his hands stained with my mother’s blood. The weight of everything seemed to press down on me, suffocating, as though the air itself had thickened with grief.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and with a sinking heart, I pulled it out. I didn’t want to look, but I had to. My trembling fingers swiped open the screen, revealing the email I knew would be waiting for me. There was no subject line, just a blank, eerie message sitting in my inbox. I opened it, my eyes scanning the short, chilling line inside.
“You’re next.”
The words felt like ice running down my spine. This wasn’t a taunt anymore—it was a direct threat. My blood ran cold, and before I could stop myself, a surge of rage and helplessness flooded through me. I gripped my phone tightly, the words burning into my brain, and with a guttural scream, I hurled it against the hospital wall.
It shattered on impact, pieces of glass and plastic scattering across the floor as the scream tore from my throat, echoing through the empty hallway. I buried my face in my hands, my body shaking with a mix of fury and despair.
I had tried to protect my family, tried to stay ahead of whatever this nightmare was, but now my mother was dead. And now, they were coming for me.
The hospital staff rushed over, startled by the sound, but I barely noticed them. All I could hear was the sickening echo of the message in my head: You’re next.
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