Chapter 4 Mistaken Father

Chapter 4

Mistaken Father

The antique market was buzzing with activity.

A group of older men and women had gathered around a booth, nibbling on snacks like popcorn and trail mix while chatting animatedly.

"Hey, how come the psychic hasn't shown up yet?"

"I've been waiting forever-my snack stash is almost gone."

"How about we make a bet? How many readings will the psychic do today?"

"I'm betting six. I'll wager a granola bar."

"I'll say seven. I'm putting down three energy bars."

"Look! Here she comes!"

The crowd erupted into excitement as they quickly parted to let her through. Ivy walked in confidently, calm and collected.

Aunt Margaret gasped, "Wow, Ivy looks absolutely stunning today! She's practically glowing."

Martha squinted mischievously. "I bet she's been out on a date."

At that, everyone's curiosity piqued.

"Ivy, where's your boyfriend? Why didn't he come with you today?"

"Come on, spill it! Who's the lucky guy?"

"Knowing you, your boyfriend must be wonderful."

Ivy glanced down at her dress and sighed internally.

Oh no, I forgot to change my clothes.

Thank goodness, these women have no idea about her personal life and wouldn't guess that she had just gotten married.

She cleared her throat and smiled. "Don't get carried away. I don't have a boyfriend."

Martha's eyes lit up. "No boyfriend? Then it must be a husband! Are you wearing this outfit because you just got married?"

The crowd burst into a cheerful uproar.

Congratulations, Ivy.

Wishing you a lifetime of happiness.

I hope you have a baby soon?

Ivy's smile faltered.

These women were sharp as tacks. Nothing ever slipped past them.

For a brief moment, Ivy thought about giving up and saying, You know what? One of you can take over the readings today.

But Martha waved her hand playfully. "Alright, alright, no more teasing. Ivy's just shy. Let's all behave."

The crowd quieted down, returning to their snacks.

Ivy sat down on a small folding stool. "Same rules as always, I'll be doing seven readings today."

At that moment, a flustered man in his forties barged through the crowd, clutching a red envelope in his hand.

"Ivy, please! You've got to help me, I'm terrified."

Ivy studied him coolly. "You've got a strange aura about you. Have you been experiencing something... unusual?"

The man, Warren, nodded vigorously. "Ivy, you're right. I've been having the same nightmare for three nights. It's scaring me to death."

It all started three nights ago.

In the dream, he was standing in a thick fog. From somewhere in the mist, an eerie voice called out:

"Warren... Warren... come here..."

He tried to get closer, but suddenly woke up with a racing heart and sweat on his back.

He shook it off, thinking it was just a bad dream, and went on with his day.

But the next night, it happened again. Same fog, same voice.

"Warren... come here..."

This time, he didn't want to go near it, but his body seemed to move against his will, pulling him closer.

"Damn it."

He woke up with a start, but this time, he noticed a puddle of water next to his bed.

It hadn't rained. The roof wasn't leaking. So, where did the water come from?

He was freaked out. He told his wife about it, but she didn't think it was a big deal-probably just a spilled glass of water.

But that night, it happened again.

"Warren. Come here."

This time, he could see the source of the mist.

It was a dark, empty alley-rows of abandoned buildings lined up in front of him, all eerie and silent.

The voice kept calling, urging him to come closer.

"Warren... come here..."

"No. I'm not coming near."

He clenched his eyes shut, trembling in fear.

But the voice was relentless.

"Open your eyes, Warren. Look at me."

"I won't. I won't." He screamed in panic. "Please, no."

He stumbled and collided with a brick wall-then, he woke up with a jolt.

Opening his eyes, Warren gasped for breath, noticing the panic reflected on his wife's face.

Warren asked, "Did you have a nightmare too?"

His wife nodded, her voice trembling, Warren, what are we going to do? Our son Zion is still so young, we can't afford for anything to happen to us...

The couple held each other, shivering as they endured the night.

As soon as daylight broke, Warren rushed to the local antique district, looking for a spiritual advisor to help with their problem.

Looking back, Warren let out a bitter smile.

"Advisor, I swear I've never done anything wrong. I work honestly every day to support my family, and I wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"Why would a ghost be after us?"

Oh, our child is still so young. My wife and I can't afford for anything to happen to us...

Warren, a strong man well over six feet tall, shrank into a ball currently, crying and blowing his nose. "Please, help us."

Ivy comforted him, "Don't worry, you're not in any immediate danger."

Hearing this, Warren calmed down a bit and sniffed. "Advisor, should we perform some kind of ritual to ward off the ghost?"

"No need," Ivy said, her tone deliberate. "Looking at your face, it seems like there's an issue with your family's ancestral grave."

What? Warren slapped his thigh. "Who would be so immoral to cause trouble for our family?"

Ivy explained, "Your cheeks are darkening, and there's a sense of heaviness around you, suggesting that your family grave may be in a bad condition. That's why you had the nightmare about the puddle near your bed. It's a sign."

"That can't be," Warren scratched his head. "I go back to my hometown every year to visit my parents' grave."

"Just last month I went there, cleared the weeds from my father's grave. The grave is nowhere near any water source, so how could it be flooded?"

Ivy gave him a knowing look. "Could you have mistakenly gone to the wrong grave?"

Warren gasped. "Really? No way."

His hometown was located in a remote area, where the roads were rough. Every year around Memorial Day, the area was overwhelmed with thick vegetation, often shrouded in fog. It felt like a survival expedition just to visit the graves.

Warren always tied a red cloth to a tree near his father's grave, so he was confident he hadn't made a mistake.

Ivy glanced at him again, saying, "You were very young when your father passed away, right? Are you sure you didn't go to the wrong grave or take a wrong path?"

A wave of uncertainty hit Warren. He started doubting whether he had made a mistake.

Thinking more deeply, the voice in his dream did sound eerily familiar.

He rubbed his eyes and said, "Advisor, I was only eight when my father passed. My mother raised us all by herself."

"After she passed, I've been visiting my father's grave every year on her behalf. I really didn't think I... I actually went to the wrong grave. Likewise, I've let my parents down."

His face reddened. "I truly let them down."

Ivy said, "Recognizing your mistake and correcting it is what truly matters. You should find a better place for your father to rest."

"Thank you, Advisor. I'll return to my hometown and move my father's grave right away."

Warren stood up, suddenly realizing he had no idea where his father was buried.

He hesitated for a moment, then shyly asked, "Advisor, could you ask my father where his grave is?"

Ivy: "......"

The onlookers: "......"

Warren awkwardly smiled. "All the trees on that mountain look the same, and it's been so many years. I genuinely can't recognize the way."

Advisor, I can pay extra, can you perhaps...

Ivy interrupted him, "Follow me, I'll help you find the grave."

Warren was instantly startled. "Advisor, are you serious?"