This summer, a foul stench suddenly filled our home. And as the temperature rose, the smell grew even stronger, but no one except me could smell it.

They told me I was sick. However, after my sense of smell was checked out, the result showed it was normal.

I had tried everything, like moving out, getting spiritual readings, getting hypnosis and others, to get rid of the smell, but the situation just kept getting worse. And this made me on the verge of losing my mind!

Then one day, as I passed by the butcher shop downstairs, something the owner said jolted me.

"Miss, have you ever considered that there might actually be a dead body in your house?"

——

"What did you just say?" I asked.

"I said, have you ever thought that maybe there is a dead body in your house?" he asked again. "Perhaps, everyone smells it, but they're just too scared to say it out loud. I heard from the older generation that when someone does too much evil, their descendants will suffer for it. That misfortune will come back to torment them.”

“There’s really such a thing?” I asked.

“Oh, sure. And the more evil thing someone has done, the more meat they and their family eat, the stronger the stench becomes. You can even smell their malice. If you want to get to the truth, do what I say. Buy exactly two pounds and four ounces of meat every day and eat it for seven days straight. Then you’ll know what’s really going on.”

I looked at the butcher skeptically, doubting his words. That was because ever since I first started smelling this stench, I’d tried everything I could think of and not a single thing had worked.

Will his method work? Or was he using this bizarre story to sell more pork?

It seemed the butcher knew what I was thinking. He mysteriously raised the boning knife in his hand and assured me, “Young lady, I’ve been slaughtering pigs for over twenty years. I never lie in front of the knife. That’s the rule in this business. If I were to lie, this boning knife would turn against me and I’d suffer the agony of being cut to pieces.”

“I’ve been running this butcher shop in the neighborhood for years. Everyone knows everyone around here. I’m only telling you this because you look like a good kid. Trust me, follow what I said and you will find the source of the smell.”

Despite my doubts, I believed him … mostly.

I ended up buying two pounds and four ounces of meat and took it home.

The stench truly tormented me. I could smell it everywhere I went, but it was especially unbearable at home. The smell was so intense, it kept me up at night.

I had to take sleeping pills just to fall asleep and I could not help but increase the dose every night.

No one in my family cared about my plight, saying I was being overly sensitive and fragile.

My younger brother even cruelly mocked me, "Have you been reading too many CEO romance novels and developed a psychological disorder? Are you imagining yourself as the fragile, sensitive female lead?"

My parents laughed at me when they heard him, brushing off my condition as imaginary nonsense. There was not a shred of concern for my condition in their heart.

I’d already visited nearly every hospital I could and what little savings I had were almost gone and my parents never once offered to help.

When I walked in with two pounds and four ounces of meat, my mother, who had been planning to cook, put down the pan and prepared to leave.  

“Kaylee, you’re back just in time. You cook the meal, because I’m going to visit the neighbors. Emma upstairs invited me over to take a look at the new clothes she bought.”

Bang!

Slamming the door, my mother walked out without looking back.

The room echoed with my younger brother’s intense cursing as he played video games, while my father was busy with his fossil research in the study. Everyone in the family was indifferent and even extremely cold for an unknown reason to me.

My nose stung and I was about to cry, when the overwhelming stench hit me again. It was so strong I nearly passed out.

I forced back the tears, took the meat and walked into the kitchen.

Just then, I heard a noise from an empty cupboard in the southeast corner of the kitchen. An unfamiliar foul stench that was worse than anything I had smelled before leaked from it and the cupboard was locked tightly with a padlock.

What's inside the cabinet?

I actually had never paid any attention to it before.

There was enough space around the lock on the cabinet to open a small crack, allowing me to see what was inside.

So, I moved a stool over, climbed up, shone my flashlight inside and followed the stench as I explored the cabinet.

Rustle … rustle...The noises coming from inside made my skin crawl.

There seemed to be something inside and it sensed my approach, making the stench even more intense.  

I hurried my movements, as if the truth was right before my eyes, capable of completely curing my lingering doubts!  

In an instant, my fear vanished and I excitedly squinted my eyes to peer through the crack, but a furious shout came from behind me.

"Kaylee Ford, what do you think you’re doing?”

Pain shot through me as I tumbled off the stool and twisted my ankle.

My brother stormed out of his room in a rage, not even caring about the game he’d been playing and kicked me hard.

“Are you out of your mind, Kaylee? Why did you climb up so high? What are you even looking for? Who told you to touch that cabinet?”

I curled up in pain, but my brother didn't even think to help me up. Instead, he called our mother to come home and summoned our father from the study.

The three of them hauled me into the living room like I was a criminal, all glaring at me in fury and scolding me.

Why did you go rummaging through that cabinet? Didn't you see it was locked? I told you to cook, but you didn't. Why are you messing with this stuff? Are you just bored and looking for trouble?  

“Thank goodness I left the room to use the restroom and saw my sister using a stool to climb up and rummage through the cabinet. Otherwise, who knows what trouble she would have caused? She deserves a good beating.”  

“Kaylee, why do you keep sticking your nose in things that aren’t your business? You’re just a girl, full of bad luck. Why can’t you just leave that cabinet alone? How can you be so clueless?”  

After their scolding, they finally explained what was locked inside that cabinet. It was a religious statue.

My mother said, "I had been worshipping that religious statue for a long time, but later, a relative came to visit our home and said the statue was empty, the power had left and it wasn’t staying in our home anymore. They told me not to worship it anymore, otherwise it might attract unclean things."

"However, I couldn’t just dispose of it carelessly, let alone discard at will, could I? So, I have an idea. I locked the statue in the cabinet and wrapped red cloth over its eyes."

"People said the statue couldn't be exposed to light, or it would bring bloodshed. If your brother hadn't stopped you just now, you might have broken the taboo," my mother said.

I tried to speak up through the pain, but my words only brought harsher scolding.

“But I smell something rotting coming from the cabinet and it's getting worse …” I tried to explain.

“You keep going on and on about some terrible smell ... so what if you did smell something? It’s not like it’s killing you. You’re still walking, talking, eating just fine, aren’t you? I’ve never heard of someone being killed by a bad smell. Can’t you just stop already?”

“If you keep acting this way, don’t blame us for being harsh. I’ll say you’re crazy and send you to a mental hospital to experience what it’s like there, so you stop complaining and bothering us.”

The coldness and ruthlessness in my mother's words made me not dare to say another word because I knew she meant it.

I could only lean on the kitchen door to stand up, secretly wipe away my tears and continue cooking for them.  

With no other option, I followed the butcher’s advice and prepared the two pounds and four ounces of meat for them to eat.  

The meat looked totally normal. Nothing seemed off, there was no weird look or unusual smell. I stared at it for a long time, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Even when they ate it, no one noticed anything unusual.

I honestly thought the butcher had tricked me.

But the next morning, when I woke up, I smelled a new stench. It was coming from my father’s body, mixed with a burnt smell.  

Nervously, I stepped closer and the burnt smell on him grew even stronger.

Suddenly, the butcher’s words echoed in my mind.

“The eviller deeds one commits, the more meat they eat and the stronger the odor becomes, to the point where one can even smell their malice.”

That burning odor smelled like the aftermath of a massive fire. A mixture of the scent of charred wood, resin and meat. This instantly conjured up images in my head of a house engulfed in flames.

Without thinking, I asked, “Dad… was there ever a fire in our house before?”

My father paused, his sharp gaze darting toward me, including my mother and younger brother. Their eyes grew serious.  

“Why are you asking such a thing?”  

“Oh, no reason,” I said quickly. “I just saw a pretty fresh burn scar on your hand and I couldn’t remember how you got it. So, I ask.”

My father withdrew his hand, as if relieved and casually made up an excuse. “Oh, that? It's nothing. I burned myself while helping your grandma back at the old house. You were too young to remember, so we never brought it up.”

I nodded and dropped the subject, but I was even more confused than ever.

I didn’t even have any memories of my grandmother either. It was as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

When my grandmother was on her deathbed, we all went to see her one last time. I saw her bid farewell to everyone with kindness, but when I approached her, she ordered everyone to leave and glared at me with a hideous expression.  

There was no trace of kindness on her face. She grabbed me with all her strength and bit my ear, leaving a gaping wound that remains to this day.

Amidst the blood, my grandmother’s hoarse, weathered voice whispered a sentence in my ear, “You’re not one of the Ford Family. You monster, get out!”  

And with those last words, she passed away.

After that, my parents hated me even more. They believed that I had said something to provoke Grandma, causing her to die with hatred. They didn't take me to the hospital to treat my ear, leaving a noticeable gap.  

Moreover, I remember that grandma's family was among the first to be relocated to a new rural area and they had long since stopped using firewood. She had many children and most of the time, they took turns staying at their parents' homes. The old house was mostly locked and they rarely cooked there.

The strong smell of smoke filled my nose, bringing to mind vivid images of fiery infernos—but these scenes were not from Grandma’s house. This only strengthened my belief that my father was lying to me!

Even my brother got weirdly serious when he heard me say “fire.” He kept watching me closely from the corner of the room

After lingering for a while, my parents went out to work and my brother returned to his room to play games.

He never had a job. He spent all day livestreaming himself playing games and barely earned anything, usually ending each month broke. But my parents never complained about it. In fact, they fully supported him mooching off them. Meanwhile, they were constantly harsh with me and demanding that I hand over my paycheck once I started working.

As my mom put it, “You’re the older sister. It’s your duty to sacrifice for your brother. You’re supposed to give in to him, no matter what.”