Reborn To Trap My Killer Aunt

I am currently lying in the center of a five-star hotel ballroom. Today is my Welcome to the World gala, marking my first month on this earth.

My parents' faces are glowing with the same familiar joy I remember from before, but beneath my chubby cheeks and button nose, I am carrying eighty years of memories from the Great Beyond.

To earn this second chance at life, I spent decades in the grey halls of the afterlife, pleading with the Silent Arbitrators until even the most hardened spirits were ready to kick me back to the living just to get some peace.

In my last life, my aunt, Lydia, used the excuse of "bonding with the baby" to drive a four-inch silver needle directly into my fontanellethe soft spot on my crown.

I didn't die. I became a "miracle" who never spoke, a hollow shell for eighteen years until I was kidnapped and sold into the mountains to be a bride for an old hermit.

It is currently March 22nd, 8:42 AM. She will be here any minute.

This time, the tragedy ends before it begins.

In my previous life, this party was a grand affair.

My parents, David and Beryl, spared no expense. They invited nearly fifty relatives, believing that the more people who blessed me, the more "good energy" I would carry through life.

They had no idea.

Exactly ten minutes before the official start of the banquet, a black Bentley would pull up to the curb. Lydia would step out, dripping in diamonds and carrying a designer handbag. She would offer a massive cash gift and, with a saccharine smile, ask to take the "sweet little niece" from my mothers arms.

My mother, always eager to share her joy, wouldn't suspect a thing.

Lydia would then carry me into the private dressing room next door. She would reach into her bag for the needle shed prepared.

It only takes a few seconds.

One moment, I was a bright-eyed, healthy infant. The next, the light in my eyes would go out forever, replaced by a permanent, vacant stare.

That was how Lydia stole my life.

But now, Im back.

Even though Im just a four-week-old infant who can barely coordinate my limbs, I have an advantage. Eighty years in the afterlife taught me one thing: the primal, jagged edge of a parents intuition. If I can plant even a seed of doubt, they will become my fortress.

Lydia, Im ready for you.

I rubbed my eyes and burrowed deeper into my mothers chest, acting the part of the clingy, fragile newborn.

My father watched us with hungry eyes, reaching out his arms. "Let me have a turn, Beryl. Let me hold our little Maddy."

No.

I snapped wide awake. In my last life, my father was the one who let his guard down the most. He loved Lydia; she was his baby sister. Even when the doctors later found the scar on my scalp, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea that his own flesh and blood could be a monster.

I couldn't rely on him. Not yet.

"WAAAAAAH!"

I let out a piercing, glass-shattering shriek. It wasn't a hungry cry or a sleepy whimper. it was a visceral, soul-tearing howl of terror.

My father flinched, his hands recoiling instantly.

"Whoa! What happened? Does Maddy hate me today?"

My mother gave him a sharp look, rocking me protectively. "Shh, its okay, baby. Mommys got you. Daddys just too loud, isn't he? No Daddy right now."

I sniffled, gradually quieting down.

My grandfather, Bob, watched this from his chair and chuckled. "Looks like Maddy only has eyes for her mama. Come here, sweetheart, let Grandpa see those eyes."

He reached out.

Before his fingers even brushed my lace gown, the siren went off again. A scream so loud my face turned purple.

Sorry, Grandpa.

In my last life, he had been the one encouraging me to "bond" with Lydia. He wanted the family to be a tight-knit unit. He was an enabler of the worst kindthe kind who loves too much to see the truth.

I cried harder, gasping for air until I nearly choked.

Grandpa froze, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed red.

Beryl looked overwhelmed. "I think shes just overstimulated. She didn't sleep well last night, and with all these people... I think she just needs me. Sorry, Dad, maybe later."

David and Bob exchanged a disappointed glance and sighed in unison. They stepped back, giving us space.

The minutes ticked by. The guests began to fill the ballroom.

I counted down the seconds in my head.

3... 2... 1...

"Beryl! Oh my god, let me see the guest of honor!"

The heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open.

Lydia marched in on four-inch stilettos, swinging a rare-skin Herms bag, her jewelry clinking like a death knell.

"Look at her! She is absolutely precious."

She hurried over, pulling a thick envelope from her bag and shoving it into my mothers hand. Then, with practiced ease, she made her move.

"Here, Beryl, let me take her for a bit. You look exhausted."

As my fathers sister, Lydia spoke with the authority of someone who belonged.

My mother, tired from the morning's festivities, started to loosen her grip. Her arms began to shift me toward the woman who had ruined my soul.

Now.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!"

The scream I unleashed was tectonic. I kicked, I arched my back, I coughed until I gagged. I acted like a wild animal being backed into a corner.

The closer Lydia got, the more violent my reaction became.

The entire ballroom went silent. Every head turned.

My father rushed over, dragging Grandpa with him, his face etched with worry. "What is going on with her today?"

He gently pulled my mother back a few steps.

"Lydia, Im so sorry. I dont know whats gotten into Maddy. Shes been like this all morningwon't let anyone but Beryl touch her. Not even me or Dad."

Grandpa nodded solemnly. "Its true. Shes being incredibly territorial today."

Lydias expression flickereda flash of pure, cold irritation that vanished so fast a normal person would have missed it. It was replaced instantly by a look of wounded pouting.

"Oh, I see," she said, her laugh sounding like dry paper. "But Beryl, you know what they say. A baby needs to be passed around to soak up all the family's luck. Im her aunt! Ive been dying to hold her."

My fathers expression softened. He was a sucker for tradition.

He hesitated, then reached for me again, his hands sliding under my armpits.

I stayed quiet.

He lifted me and handed me to Grandpa.

Still quiet.

He let out a sigh of relief, convinced the "phase" had passed. He took me back and began to lower me into Lydias outstretched arms.

The moment my lace hem touched her skin:

"WAAAH! WAAAH! WAAAAAAAAAH!"

This wasn't just a performance anymore. The smell of her perfumethat cloying, expensive floral scenttriggered every dormant trauma in my psyche. I remembered the cold bite of the steel. I remembered the years of darkness. I remembered the eighty years of wandering the afterlife, begging for justice.

The hatred and the terror surged through my tiny body. I screamed until the veins in my neck stood out, a sound so raw it felt like it was stripping the paint off the walls.

My father looked at my beet-red face, then looked at Lydias expectant, slightly too-eager eyes.

His gaze darkened. His protective instincts, finally, began to override his familial loyalty.

"Lydia," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "What exactly do you have on you?"

Lydia froze.

She recovered quickly, forcing a confused giggle. "David, what are you talking about? What would I have on me? I just want to love on my niece."

My father didn't smile back.

"Maybe Im overthinking it," he muttered, though his eyes remained narrowed. "Its just strange. Out of everyone here, she only reacts this way to you. I thought maybe you were wearing a perfume she hated... or had something sharp on your jewelry."

His words were meant to be a casual observation, but Lydias smile looked like it was being held up by invisible wires. She tried to say something else, but David had already turned his back, walking me away.

Cradled against his chest, I blew tiny bubbles against his shirt, listening to him whisper to my mother.

"Lydias off today. Shes probably under a lot of pressure from her in-laws again. Keep an eye on Maddy. I dont want Lydia getting too close if shes in an unstable headspace."

In my last life, I understood the tragedy of Lydia. She had married well, but she was struggling with infertility. Her husbands family treated her like a defective product.

My parents had tried to help. They had told her she could leave him, that David would take care of her forever. But Lydia didn't want a way out; she wanted someone to suffer as much as she did.

In her mind, it wasn't fair that she was "hollow" while Beryl was "fruitful."

I watched her from over my fathers shoulder. She was standing alone, her red-manicured nails digging into the leather of her bag. Her eyes were fixed on me, cold and calculating.

Im waiting, Lydia, I thought. Try me.

For the next hour, Lydia kept her distance. She played the part of the social butterfly, chatting with cousins and sipping champagne.

I started to drift, my infant body betraying me. I yawned, my eyelids growing heavy.

Just as I was about to succumb to sleep, a woman in her early fifties wearing a festive red cardigan approached us. She had a kind, grandmotherly smile.

"Beryl, honey, you look like your arms are about to fall off. Why don't you let me hold the little one for a while?"

This was Martha.

She was a distant cousin of my fathers. More importantly, her son worked for Lydias husband.

In my last life, Martha was the one who stood by the dressing room door, acting as a lookout while Lydia destroyed my mind.

She reached out, her eyes flickering with a frantic, nervous energy that she tried to hide behind a smile.

She had been watching us. She knew the party was half over. My father had been pulled away by Grandpa to toast with the elders. My mother was standing alone, her posture sagging from the weight of holding me all morning.

"Come on, Beryl. Were family. Dont be polite with me. Ill take her so you can grab a bite to eat."

She reached for me.

The hair on my neck stood up. Every instinct screamed Danger.

I exploded. I kicked my legs, my face turning a terrifying shade of purple as I shrieked.

Beryl immediately pulled me back.

"Oh, Im so sorry, Martha. I dont know whats wrong with her today. Shes just not herself. I think Id better just keep holding her."

Martha didn't back down. She stepped closer, her smile turning brittle.

"Beryl, don't be like that. Babies cry; its what they do. Youre going to spoil her if you don't let other people help. Or is it that you don't think Im 'high-class' enough to touch your daughter?"

She said it loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. It was a classic guilt trip, designed to make my mother feel like a snob if she refused.

I saw Beryl hesitate. Her social conditioning was fighting her maternal instinct.

"WAAAAAH! No... No..." I tried to form the sounds, my heart hammering against my ribs.

My mother felt my resistance. The hand she had been about to loosen suddenly tightened. She frowned and took a deliberate step back.

Martha stepped forward.

Beryl stepped back again.

Martha followed.

It was a strange, silent dance of aggression. My mother finally realized something was very, very wrong. Her smile didn't waver, but her voice turned as sharp as a razor.

"Martha. I said no."

"I know you mean well, but Maddy isn't feeling well. She needs her mother. Maybe next time."

Before Martha could respond, Beryl cut her off. "I think I hear David calling me. Enjoy the salmon, Martha."

Beryl walked awaynot a slow stroll, but a brisk, elegant escape. She didn't stop until she reached my father.

"What is it?" David asked, noticing her pale face.

Beryl was breathing hard. "I don't know. Its just... a feeling. Like everyone is hovering over Maddy. Like if I let her out of my sight for one second, something terrible is going to happen."

"David, we can't let her go. Not for a second."

My father didn't dismiss her. He looked across the room, his eyes landing on Lydia and Martha whispering in a corner. His brow furrowed.

"Okay," he whispered. "Im not leaving your side."

I leaned my head against my mothers heart. They were finally suspicious.

Eighteen years earlier than the last time.

It was a start.

The atmosphere shifted. My father became a human shield.

When Grandpa tried to pull him away to drink with the uncles, David claimed he had a migraine. When a cousin asked for help moving a car, David just tossed his keys to a waiter.

He and Beryl were like two sentries guarding a treasure.

I watched them from the safety of Beryls arms, feeling a sense of peace I hadn't known in a century.

Lydia had succeeded before because my parents were "good people" who assumed everyone else was good, too. That naivety was gone.

But I was still a baby. And the biological clock of an infant is merciless.

I was exhausted. My eyes were burning, my brain fogging over. I tried to fight it, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, but the darkness was pulling at me.

Beryl noticed my struggle. She rocked me gently. "Go to sleep, Maddy. Mommys right here. Ive got you."

I tried to shake my head, but my neck was like jelly. A second later, my system forced a shutdown.

I felt the familiar motion of being carried.

I smelled the cedarwood scent of the hotels luxury nursery suite.

Beryl laid me down in the crib, humming a soft lullaby. "Sleep tight, my little angel..."

Everything felt safe. Until the phone rang.

"What? Dad fell?" I heard Beryls voice hitch. "Is he okay? Where is he? I'm coming right now."

She leaned over and kissed my forehead, her breath hitching with anxiety. Then, the sound of her footsteps hurried out of the suite.

The door clicked shut.

I was alone.

Ten minutes later.

Beep.

The sound of a keycard.

The door creaked open. Footsteps, light as feathers, crept across the carpet. I heard the rustle of a designer bag.

Lydias bag.

"Don't blame me for this, Maddy," a voice whispered. It was thick with a terrifying, shaky kind of resolve.

She reached the crib. I could hear her sharp intake of breath. She opened a small silk pouch, and I heard the faint clink of metal. The silver needles.

She picked one out. I could almost feel the coldness of the steel reflecting the dim nursery light.

As her hand reached over the railing, toward my head

"WAAAAAAH!"

I threw my eyes open and screamed with every ounce of life in my lungs.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

The door flew open. David, Beryl, Grandpa, and the hotel manager were standing there.

My fathers face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

"Lydia," he growled, his voice vibrating with a lethal edge. "Turn. Around."