The Cursed Gaze of the Aborted Child

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the abandoned clinic. The air was thick with the scent of decay, the kind that clings to places where lives are snuffed out in silence. In the dim light, a solitary figure, a woman named Eliza, approached the entrance with a heavy heart. She had made this journey before, but this time, it was different. The pregnancy that had once filled her with hope now filled her with dread.

Eliza had sought the clinic under duress, her marriage crumbling under the weight of her husband's demands and societal pressures. The doctor had assured her that the procedure was safe, that it was the best choice for her and her family. But as she stood before the clinic, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like a leaden shroud.

Inside, the walls were cold and sterile, the air filled with the hushed whispers of other women who had walked these same halls. Eliza's hands trembled as she pushed open the door, and she felt the eyes of the past patients upon her. She made her way to the examination room, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The doctor, a stern-faced man named Dr. Harlow, greeted her with a nod. "You're here for the procedure, Eliza. Are you sure about this?" His voice was a mix of concern and judgment, but Eliza could feel no regret. She nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor.

The procedure was quick, the pain sharp but bearable. Eliza was taken to a recovery room, where she lay on the bed, the chill of the room seeping into her bones. She closed her eyes and tried to push the images of the procedure from her mind, but they persisted, haunting her like a specter.

Days turned into weeks, and Eliza's life began to unravel. Her husband grew distant, his anger turning to disdain. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, that the aborted child had some malevolent presence. She would see it in her reflections, a twisted, vengeful face that seemed to loom over her, its eyes boring into her soul.

One night, as Eliza lay in bed, the room grew dark, the silence oppressive. She felt a presence, a cold hand on her shoulder. She turned, but there was nothing there. She shook it off, telling herself it was just her imagination.

But the next night, it happened again. This time, the presence was more solid, more tangible. Eliza saw the aborted child, a ghostly figure with eyes that seemed to pierce through her very being. The child reached out, its fingers brushing against her cheek, leaving a trail of ice.

Eliza's husband noticed the changes in her, the fear that seemed to consume her. He demanded answers, but Eliza couldn't speak. The child's presence was too strong, too relentless. She knew she had to do something, but she didn't know what.

One evening, as Eliza wandered the streets, she stumbled upon an old, abandoned church. The building was decrepit, its windows shattered, its doors hanging off their hinges. But there was something about the place that drew her in, a sense of familiarity that was both comforting and terrifying.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay, but Eliza felt a strange calm wash over her. She moved deeper into the church, her footsteps echoing in the silence. She found herself in the sanctuary, where the pews were crammed with the spirits of the aborted children, their eyes fixed on her.

Eliza approached the altar, her heart pounding in her chest. She fell to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch the cold stone. "Please, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I was scared, and I made a mistake."

The spirits seemed to listen, their eyes softening. One by one, they began to fade, leaving behind a sense of peace. Eliza felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of release. She knew that the curse had been lifted, that she had been forgiven.

Eliza returned home, her husband's face filled with concern. She told him everything, and he listened, his eyes wide with shock. They sought help, a priest who specialized in exorcisms and cleansing. The priest performed a ritual, and the child's spirit was banished, never to return.

Eliza's life began to mend, her marriage slowly healing. She realized that her decision had been made out of fear and desperation, but she had learned a valuable lesson. She had learned that life, even the life of a fetus, held intrinsic value, and that she had the power to change her actions and make amends.

The haunted child had taught Eliza a profound lesson about forgiveness and the consequences of her actions. She had found redemption, not just for herself, but for the aborted child whose spirit had been so wronged. And as she looked into the mirror each morning, she saw not a haunted woman, but a woman who had faced her demons and emerged stronger.