The Curse of the Latvian Estate

Estij and Variju's country home in Latvia was a sprawling estate, full of dark corners and creaky floorboards. As I settled in for the night, I could feel the weight of the past bearing down on me, a palpable sense of unease that seemed to permeate every inch of the house.

I couldn't help but think of my daughter Sigulda, or Siggie as we called her. Sigulda and I had always had a difficult relationship. I wanted to protect her from the dangers of the world, but we had very different concepts of what that entails. She was headstrong and independent, like her father, but I worried she was too reckless. Her only fears were, in my mind, superstitions. She had always been sensitive to the otherworldly, to things that went bump in the night. As a child, she had seen ghosts and spirits that I couldn't see, and I had brushed it off as an overactive imagination.

But as she grew older, her visions only became more vivid, more terrifying. She would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming about shadowy figures and eerie whispers. I tried to reassure her that it was all in her head, that there was nothing to be afraid of, but deep down I knew that there was something strange and unsettling about her nightmares.

We moved to my husband Misha's old country home in Latvia to spend the summer with his family, hoping that a change of scenery would ameliorate Siggie's visions. His sister Estij and her husband Variku joined us there. It should have been a joyous and relaxing occasion, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

One night, as I lay in bed, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from the wall. At first, I tried to ignore it, chalking it up to the old pipes and creaky foundation. But the sound only grew louder, more persistent. It was as if something was trying to claw its way out of the wall, something that was desperate to be free.

I got out of bed and followed the sound to Sigulda's room. The scratching was coming from the wall next to her bed, and as I pressed my ear to the plaster, I could hear a faint whispering, like the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Who's there?" I called out, but there was no answer.

I woke up Misha and Estij, and we searched the room together, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of forced entry, no strange smells or objects. And yet, the scratching persisted, louder than ever.

That's when we saw her: Sigulda, standing in the middle of the room, her eyes fixed on the wall."Siggie, what's going on?" I asked, but she didn't answer. She just stood there, transfixed, as the scratching grew louder and more frenzied.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The scratching ceased, the whispers faded away, and the room fell silent. For a moment, we all just stood there, staring at the wall, wondering what had just happened. But then Sigulda spoke.

"I know what it wants," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"It wants me," she said. "It's been following me for years, ever since we moved here. It wants me to be with it, to stay here in this house forever."

I didn't know what to say. I had always tried to dismiss Sigulda's visions as fanciful, but now it seemed that there was something truly sinister at work here. Over the next few nights, the scratching grew louder and more frequent. It was as if the entity was growing bolder, more aggressive, more determined to break free. Other strange occurrences shook my confidence. Objects moved on their own, doors slammed shut, and I heard whispers in the night. Misha and his family brushed it off as old-house quirks, but I couldn't ignore the feeling that something more sinister was at play. I tried to ignore it, to go about my daily routine as if everything was normal, but it was impossible. The sense of dread and unease hung over the house like a thick fog, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that we were never truly alone.

One night, I woke up to find Sigulda missing. I searched the house and the surrounding fields, but she was nowhere to be found. Misha, Estij, and Variku helped me search, but it was like she vanished into thin air.

Days passed with no sign of Sigulda. I was beside myself with worry and guilt. Did I say something to upset her? Did I not pay enough attention to her? The questions consumed me.

One day, while exploring the house, I found a hidden room in the basement. Inside, I discovered an old journal belonging to Misha's great-grandfather. The journal detailed a tragedy that befell the family years ago.

It seemed that Misha's great-grandfather had had a daughter who was just like Sigulda. Headstrong, independent, and imaginative. One day, she had disappeared without a trace, just like Sigulda did.

The family had searched for months, but they had never found her. Misha's great-grandfather had become obsessed with the idea that his daughter was still alive and trapped in the house. He had spent the rest of his life searching for her, convinced that she was calling out to him from beyond the grave.

As I read the journal, I realize that history is repeating itself. Sigulda is in danger, just like Misha's great-grandfather's daughter was. I know I need to get her out of the house, but the house seems to have a hold on her.

One night, I heard a soft voice calling my name. It was Sigulda. I followed the voice to the attic, where I found her sitting in the corner, surrounded by old trunks and cobwebs. She looks different, her hair tangled and her eyes glazed. She told me she had confronted the entity haunting the house and demanded to be released. It had been a terrifying ordeal, but she had emerged stronger and more confident than ever.

We left the house, grateful to be alive but forever changed by the experience. Sigulda and I still had our issues, but we had a newfound respect for each other. We both knew that life was too short to hold grudges and that we needed to cherish the time we had together.

As for the house, it remained a mystery. We never did figure out what was haunting it, but I knew that I never wanted to set foot in it again.