Naya jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, her breath caught between a scream and a whisper. Her heart thundered in her chest like a war drum, echoing the vivid fragments of her dream still clinging to her consciousness. The jar—their jar—had appeared again.
It had sat in the middle of a dark, fog-drenched forest clearing, glowing faintly under a blood-red moon. The whispers had circled her, urgent and unintelligible, wrapping around her like invisible vines. Then came the sharp sting—something biting into her wrist, drawing blood. In the dream, she'd watched her crimson droplets disappear into the jar's opening like it was feeding on her.
Now awake, her chest ached with pressure, and her head was pounding with what sounded like echoes of voices—so faint yet distinct. She pressed her palms to her temples and whispered, "Make it stop."
It didn't.
By mid-morning, Naya had texted the group.
Naya: "We need to meet. Today. It's the jar. I can't explain over text."
Sienna: "That damn thing? I thought we agreed it was just symbolic."
Alani: "Did something happen? I've been having weird dreams too…"
Sasha: "Same. I haven't slept properly for three nights. Shadows. Flickering lights. Whispers.
They all agreed to meet at Alani's place—a central spot and the coziest. It had always been their escape zone. Today, it felt like a shelter from a storm none of them could explain.
The room was dim, candlelit—Alani's usual aesthetic. But today, the candles flickered unnaturally, even though there was no draft.
Naya wasted no time. "I don't think this is just about a pact. Something's... attached to the jar."
Sienna raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like haunted?"
"No," Naya said, then paused. "I don't know. Maybe cursed."
Alani shifted uneasily. "What happened?"
Naya relayed the dream. The blood, the forest, the whispers.
Sienna looked pale. "I... had a dream like that too. But instead of the forest, I was drowning. And the jar was sinking beside me. I heard your voices calling me back."
Alani nodded. "I've had sleep paralysis three times this week. Every time, I saw the jar on my chest. Heavy. Crushing. And someone whispering in my ear: *Keep the vow.*"
Sasha looked from one friend to another. "I thought it was just me. My promotion, the timing—it felt...off. Every time I touch the jar, I feel warm at first. Then cold. And I keep hearing things. I thought it was stress."
Sienna whispered, "What the hell did we bring into our lives?"
Alani went to retrieve the jar. It sat now on her bookshelf like a proud trophy, glinting faintly in the candlelight. But the closer she got to it, the more the room seemed to thicken. The air changed—dense and almost electric.
They all stared at it now. It looked...different. The glass seemed darker. The gold trim slightly tarnished. And there was a faint fog-like swirl inside.
"We need to destroy it," Naya said, her voice trembling.
Alani stepped back. "What if that makes it worse?"
A loud crack sounded. One of the candles toppled and shattered its glass holder without any visible touch.
The girls jumped.
"That's it. I'm done." Sienna stood, pacing. "This was supposed to be a sisterhood thing. Wine, laughs, secrets. Not nightmares and...this!"
Suddenly, Sasha's phone vibrated. A message. No contact name.
Unknown: "You made a vow. Blood remembers. So does the jar."
Sasha turned white. "I just got a text."
They all leaned in. When Naya tried to screenshot it, the message disappeared.
Meanwhile, outside ani's window, the hooded figure shifted slightly. Hidden in shadow, they watched the flickering candlelight dance through the curtains.
In their gloved hand, they held a small black notebook. On the front, written in faded ink:
"The Binding: Sisterhood Rituals and Sacrifices."
Inside, one side was marked. A passage circled in red ink.
"The Sisterhood Jar, once used in old coastal rituals, binds the desires and secrets of those who offer to it. But the jar remembers. Loyalty demands blood. And betrayal demands consequence."
As the girls debated inside, a smile curled beneath the hood. The wheels had already begun turning.
Back inside, Naya stared at the jar again.
"There has to be a way to undo this."
Alani frowned. "Do we even know what *this* is?"
Sienna hesitated, then said, "I think we need help. Someone who understands...rituals. The occult. History."
Sasha bit her lip. "I have a cousin. She dabbles in spiritual stuff—cleansing, energy work, even folklore. She might know something."
Alani looked skeptical. "Can we trust her?"
Sienna nodded slowly. "She's weird, but she's not a liar. If this thing really is cursed, we need her."
Naya spoke quietly. "Let's not wait too long."
As the girls slowly started to leave Alani's place, tension still thick between them, none of them noticed the small crack forming on the bottom of the jar.
Or the faint echo of laughter—childlike and eerie—carried through the candle smoke.
Outside, the hooded figure walked away into the night.
But they weren't alone anymore.
Another figure, watching from across the street, turned and made a call.
"She's waking up. It's beginning."
The next morning, Alani woke to find her pillow soaked in tears, even though she hadn't cried. And on her wall, written faintly in charcoal-like smudge:
"Blood remembers. So does the jar."
She screamed.