It all started the night my uncle came to stay with us. He was a tall man, with dark circles under his eyes and a voice that carried the weight of secrets best left unspoken. Ever since I was young, there was something about Uncle Jacob that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My parents adored him, saying he was just misunderstood, but I always felt there was something wrong—something deeply unsettling.
My little sister, Emma, seemed drawn to him. She was only seven, innocent and sweet. When Uncle Jacob arrived, her curious eyes lit up, as if she found him fascinating in ways that terrified me. He would sit her on his lap, whispering in her ear while she giggled, completely unaware of the darkness that lurked behind his smile.
One evening, after my parents had gone to bed, I heard Emma’s soft giggling echoing from the living room. I crept down the hallway and peered around the corner. There they were—Uncle Jacob and Emma. He held an old pocket watch, swinging it gently in front of her eyes. She stared, entranced, her body limp like a rag doll.
“Emma?” I whispered, stepping into the room. Uncle Jacob’s eyes snapped toward me, cold and distant.
“Don’t interrupt,” he growled, his voice a chilling command.
I felt frozen in place, unable to speak, as I watched my sister’s eyes roll back into her head. Her body trembled, then went completely still. She slumped against the couch, lifeless.
“Emma!” I screamed, rushing to her side, shaking her, but she didn’t respond.
Uncle Jacob stood, pocketing the watch with a sickening smile. “She’ll wake up,” he said casually, “but she won’t be the same.”
I didn’t understand what he meant at first. When Emma finally stirred, her eyes were vacant, her body stiff. She couldn’t move—couldn’t even speak. My parents thought it was some sort of sudden illness, but I knew. I knew it was Uncle Jacob.
From that night on, Emma was paralyzed. The doctors couldn’t explain it, but I knew it was his doing. Uncle Jacob vanished soon after, leaving behind no trace—just the shattered remains of my sister’s life and the horror that haunted our family.
To this day, I can still hear the ticking of that pocket watch in my nightmares, reminding me of the night my creepy uncle stole my sister’s soul.