If I hadn't blocked the hoe with my arm, it would've landed on my face.

I had watched in horror as the bone in my left arm jutted out. It was white and stark. With my flesh ripped open, blood had poured everywhere.

The pain had been so intense that I'd rolled around on the ground. At the time, Carl had burst into tears, which brought Grandma running over.

But instead of asking what had happened, she grabbed a broom and started beating me across my head and face with it.

The whole time, she was cooing at Carl, telling him not to cry.

Although there was blood everywhere, she acted like she couldn't even see it and just kept hitting me.

In the end, the lady who lived next door saw what was happening and rushed me to the hospital.

They managed to save my arm, but the scar stayed. It would be with me for the rest of my life. From that moment on, I hated Grandma with a passion.

Mom didn't like my attitude. "She's old now. She's no longer the same person. You haven't seen her in over a decade, so what are you so afraid of?"

"If she's still the same as before, I'm coming right back."

Actually, Grandma didn't live that far away. It would take only 30 minutes to get there by bike. As it had been years since I was back in the village, I couldn't help feeling a little emotional.

I hadn't been back to Grandma's place since my arm injury. I was now 24 years old, a college graduate, so it had been about 16 years.

Suddenly, I heard a woman call out, "Oh, is that you, Abby? You look just like your mother!"

I turned to see a familiar face.

The red birthmark on her cheek matched the one in my memory perfectly. This was Doris Davenport, Grandma's next-door neighbor. She was the one who got me to the hospital.

"Doris! Yes, it's me, Abigail. I just graduated from college, so I came back to visit."

I felt somewhat ashamed of myself.

Doris was practically my savior. But as soon as I recovered, my parents took me to town. And because I didn't want to see Grandma, I never came back to thank Doris in person.

Doris smiled as she praised, "Look at you, all grown up. And you've grown into a real beauty. Here to see your grandma today?

"Did you come back to see her because you heard that she's ill? I knew you weren't that heartless. She is still your grandmother, after all."

Wait, what? Grandma was sick? Mom hadn't mentioned anything about that. But I couldn't very well say that out loud right then.

Doris gestured for me to follow her. "Come on. We're going the same way."

That old house looked just like I remembered, only more run-down.

Doris waved goodbye before going back to her place.

I stared at the gate, unable to take that first step. I didn't know how to face Grandma.

The old wooden gate produced a grating sound right then, and a shaky figure appeared in front of me.

When I saw who it was, I stepped back without thinking. It was Grandma. She had aged so much. With her eyelids all droopy, she looked even more gloomy than before.

"And what did you come here for? Here to find out when this old hag will die?"

The moment she saw me, she snapped at me without hesitation, then broke into a violent cough.

I let out an irritated laugh.

"Fine. If I'm that unwelcome, I see no reason for me to stick around and be insulted. Here, Mom asked me to give this to you. She said the old jar is finally red through and through."

I dropped the bag I was holding in front of her before turning to leave. I didn't know what got into Mom this morning, but she had insisted I deliver this bag to Grandma personally.

"What did you just say?"

Grandma, who could barely walk a second ago, suddenly rushed toward me like she'd been pumped with adrenaline.

She clamped her hands around mine, her cloudy eyes lighting up with a strange, intense gleam. Her face even flushed an unnatural shade of red.

"Mom asked me to give you this bag."

I tried to yank my hand free. As her hands were dry and bony, it felt as if I had been grabbed by a dead tree branch.

Sure enough, Grandma's attention was immediately drawn to the bag. I got curious about what was inside too, but she just grabbed it and went straight into the house.

I was just about to leave when she suddenly came after me and shoved 1,000 dollars into my hand. "Here, take this 1,000 dollars. The time has come."

Huh? Had hell frozen over? And why did Grandma look so revitalized all of a sudden? It was like she'd shed years off her age in a second.

I was confused. "Time? What time?"

"Just take it and don't ask questions!" she barked, then went back through the gate. This time, she didn't come back out.

I muttered to myself, "How weird…"

Well, free money was free money. Getting a penny out of that stingy woman was usually impossible.

Seeing how she had shut her doors tight, I guessed there was no way I was staying there anymore. So, I hopped on my bike and headed back home.

Just as I was trying to sneak into my room, I heard Dad's voice. "You sent her to my mother's?"

Mom sighed. "She had to go. It's starting to come for her."

"Already? I thought we had at least 30 years? Abby's just 24!"

Dad sounded shaken.

"I heard Abby say she keeps dreaming about a lady calling her 'Sis' and getting closer to her with my own two ears. It's definitely that," Mom said, her voice frantic.

Lowering his voice, Dad asked, "You got my mother to watch over her? Would she even agree to that?"

I held my breath instinctively and moved even more quietly. I had a feeling something huge was about to blow wide open.

"I had Abby bring a bit of it over to Claudia. She'll definitely agree when she sees it."

What? What did I bring? I didn't check what was inside that bag at all. I was so stressed about talking to Grandma that it never even crossed my mind to peek inside.

Dad's voice shot up an octave."Are you crazy? That stuff isn't ready yet!"

"Hasn't the jar already turned red? Besides, nobody's had any problems these past few years. Haven't we made a killing?"

What? I was getting more and more confused. Were they talking about the jar in the backyard?

So whatever was in that jar was worth a fortune? And it needed time to become ready? What in the world needed that long to become ready?

I was already 24 years old. Did it really need to take 30 years, like what Dad said?

Dad asked impatiently, "We'll check again tonight. Are the clothes ready?"

"What are you worried about? The clothes have been in your wooden trunk this whole time. Go get them out yourself."

Then, I heard the sound of rustling. Dad must be looking for something.

As their door wasn't shut all the way, I could hear everything clearly. I slipped back into my room, determined to sneak a peek at whatever they were planning tonight.

It was early autumn. For some reason, the night felt unusually cold. Even though my room was pitch black, at least the moon outside was bright. I left the window cracked open just enough to see the spot where the jar sat.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but the shadow cast by the jar seemed darker than usual tonight. It was almost as if the darkness had taken on a physical form.

When I heard strange thuds outside, I lay flat by the window, barely daring to breathe.

A figure dressed in bulky white clothes that made their shape look weird and distorted was moving slowly. If I hadn't caught a glimpse of that familiar face when they turned, I would've screamed. It was Dad.

He liked to keep his head shaved, and with his rather tanned skin and muscular build, he looked intimidating.

But everyone knew he was whipped by Mom and was a total softie when it came to me.

In his hand was an extra-long iron hook, the kind they would use to hang slabs of meat.

My mom was right beside him, looking just as cautious, holding a metal bowl with a lid on it. She was dressed in the same weird, bulky outfit.

It took Dad a while to shuffle over to the jar. Two heavy stone slabs sat on top of it. The opening was secured with several loops of thick yellow hemp rope, and there was an old bronze bell attached to the top.

"Be careful. Make sure that bell doesn't ring," Mom whispered.

In the dead of night, I heard her as clear as day.

Dad snapped irritably, "Quit talking. I know what I'm doing."

Then, quickly and smoothly, he lifted the slabs and untied the rope. Incredibly, the bell didn't make a sound.

I focused intently on what they were doing.

A familiar, sweet, metallic scent drifted through the air right then. "It smells good. And the smell is getting stronger."

Wasn't this the scent of the meat we sell? But this smell was much richer.

So that was what was in the jar. It was our best-selling product.

I watched Dad fan the air toward himself with a blissful expression on his face.

Mom, on the other hand, was much more tense. "Stop wasting time. Take some and seal it back up. We've been opening it up too often lately."

"Yeah, I know. Just bring me the bowl."

Dad jammed the hook into the jar and stirred it around. Soon, he seemed to have hooked something heavy, judging by the strain on his arm. I stared wide-eyed as a pale object slowly emerged.

What was that?

Suddenly, Dad cursed in frustration, "Damn my luck! Why did it have to be the head?"

He then shoved the hook back into the jar.

All of that happened in a matter of seconds. I clamped my hands over my mouth, my eyes widening uncontrollably.