My dog destroyed his bed, so I hunted down a second hand crib on a local marketplace app. It was solid mahogany. You could tell just by looking at the rich wood grain that it was worth a small fortune. Yet, the original owner sold it to me for pennies. I had scored the deal of the century, and I spent days practically humming with joy. That was until I was scrolling through a local community forum and stumbled upon a highly discussed thread. "My six year old son was just diagnosed with a severe congenital illness. The doctors say there is no medical cure. Is there any alternative way to save him?" The comments were a sea of sympathy, offering prayers, diet changes, and specialist recommendations. It was a perfectly wholesome thread. Then my eyes caught the single comment the original poster had pinned and liked. "You just need to swap his fate with a child of the exact same age. Take the item your child has used the most, attach his full name and birthdate, and pass it on to another family's child." My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I was about to leave a scathing reply calling out the charlatan, but I noticed the desperate mother had already replied. "Master, my son's absolute favorite place in the world is his little wooden crib. Would it work if I sold it to a stranger?" Attached to her reply was a picture of a solid mahogany crib. My blood ran cold. It was the exact same crib sitting in my living room. It even had the identical faint scratch on the left railing. There was just one tiny detail the seller had not accounted for. My precious baby is a golden retriever mix. 1 I stared at the pristine mahogany crib, running my fingers over the distinct scratch on the wood, and sank into deep thought. A few days ago, my rambunctious rescue dog, Buster, had completely shredded his plush dog bed. My immediate thought was that no matter how tight money got, my boy deserved the best. However, my overflowing maternal instincts hit a brick wall when I saw the outrageous prices for orthopedic pet beds online. Defeated, I turned to the local second hand app. After hours of relentless scrolling and haggling, my efforts paid off. I found the perfect, sturdy crib for an unbelievably low price. The seller had been overly accommodating. Seeing that I did not have a truck, she cheerfully offered to deliver it right to my doorstep. I had been so smug about my luck, bragging to my friends about my bargaining skills. They had warned me that deals that seemed too good to be true usually came with a catch. I had brushed them off. I never expected the catch to be a dark occult curse. But really, my child was a dog. A chaotic, hyperactive furball who had once chased three grown men and five neighborhood cats up a fence in a single afternoon. Buster was a menace, and keeping him fed and happy was already a badge of honor for me. Could a dark fate swapping ritual even cross species lines? I opened my phone and typed out an earnest reply to the delusional mother. "We live in a modern society. Who actually believes in this superstitious nonsense? Please do not get scammed by fake gurus!" "Your child's health should be left to medical professionals. Early intervention is key." "Besides, if you actually believe you are swapping fates, have you thought about the innocent child you are cursing?" It did not take long for my phone to ping with her response. "A parent's love requires doing whatever it takes. While he is young, I have to cure him quickly so he does not grow up as an outcast." "My Toby is destined to do great things. Whoever gets to swap fates with my precious boy should be counting their lucky stars. They should just accept the blessing and stop being ungrateful." I typed out a furious retort, but a pop up informed me I had been blocked by the author. I scoffed. That was fine. If there was one thing a chronically online millennial had in abundance, it was burner accounts. 2 "Woof!" I looked down. Buster was awake. He sat at my feet, his big brown eyes staring up at me with such absolute devotion it made my heart melt into a puddle. Looking at that sweet face, I could almost forgive his daily acts of domestic terrorism. Buster was a street rescue. A few years ago, I had been laid off from a corporate job with zero severance. Frustrated and miserable, I had gone to a dive bar to drink my sorrows away. On my way home, I saw him in a dirty alleyway. He was fighting off three stray dogs twice his size over a miserable, dried up bone. The gash on his hind leg was so deep the bone practically gleamed under the streetlights, yet his tiny chest puffed out with the heart of a lion. He held his ground. He protected his prize. Something inside me broke. I thought he was the bravest thing I had ever seen. Fueled by liquid courage and ignoring the risk of rabies, I scooped him up and rushed him to the emergency vet. By the time the vet finished patching him up, I was stone cold sober. The itemized bill the receptionist handed me was longer than my final paycheck. I was silently cursing the extortionate medical system when I glanced down and saw Buster looking at me. His eyes were damp and trusting. I mentally slapped myself. How could I even hesitate over paper money when this little warrior had fought so hard just to live? I handed over my credit card without another word, completely missing the fact that the anesthesia had finally kicked in and he was snoring loudly. From that night on, Buster was officially mine. I spent the next two days monitoring the forum post. The mother finally posted an update. "The crib has been sold. What is the next step?" She attached a heavily censored screenshot of our transaction history. The comment section immediately erupted. "I would sooner believe I can shove my big toe into my ear than believe this guy can rewrite destiny." "Is the original poster for real? People still fall for this?" "Honestly, I am morbidly curious now. Where is this Master? Tell us the next step!" "I don't even know what to say. I understand a mother's desperation, but how could you intentionally harm someone else's baby?" The author was frantically deleting any comment that criticized her. She only left the ones begging the Master to reveal the next phase. I wanted to see what this charlatan would say next. Soon enough, a new comment was pinned to the top. "To successfully swap fates, both parties must exchange personal items. The target has your crib. Now, you must acquire items the target child uses daily. Attach your son's name and birthdate to them, and keep them close for forty nine days. This completes the spiritual bridge. After that, the transfer will begin." I could not help but roll my eyes. How could anyone be gullible enough to believe this garbage? I felt like an idiot for even keeping up with the drama. I locked my phone and grabbed Buster's leash, ready for our evening walk. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and stared at the screen in sheer disbelief. It was a direct message from the crib seller. 3 "Hey honey! Do you need any baby clothes? I bought so many brand new outfits, but my Toby is growing like a weed and cannot fit into them anymore. I would love to bring them over for you." "Do not even worry about the cost. It would be a waste to just throw them out." "Are you home right now? I can drop them off." My brain was still processing the sheer audacity, but my fingers were already typing a polite rejection. "Oh, thank you so much for the offer, but please don't trouble yourself! Our little one is quite particular and probably wouldn't fit into them." To my horror, she replied instantly. "Open up, honey. We are already at your door." I wanted to pretend I wasn't home, but the obnoxiously loud notification chime from my phone echoed straight through the thin apartment door. Trapped, I took a deep breath and turned the deadbolt. Standing in my hallway was Martha, the seller, and clinging to her hand was her son, Toby. He was a pale, chubby kid who immediately started peering past my legs into the apartment. I still felt a pang of pity for the boy. I figured I could sit the mother down, offer her a drink, and gently suggest she seek proper medical and psychological help instead of relying on internet warlocks. I plastered on a welcoming smile and stepped aside. "Come on in. Why don't you and Toby take a seat on the couch? I will go cut up some fresh fruit." I had just bought a fancy bottle of organic fruit juice that kids usually loved. I figured it would be a nice icebreaker. I stood in the kitchen, mentally rehearsing how to breach the topic of modern medicine. But when I walked back into the living room holding a tray of snacks, it was completely empty. A chilling rustling sound echoed from down the hall. I dropped the tray on the coffee table and marched toward my bedroom, pushing the door open in disbelief. In the span of five minutes, my sanctuary had been destroyed. A thick smear of crimson lipstick was dragged across my pristine white walls. My expensive silk bedsheets were stamped with tiny, foundation covered handprints. Even the brass handles of my nightstands were caked with sticky beige liquid. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The blood rushed to my ears, leaving a high pitched ringing in its wake. "What are you doing?!" Hearing my raised voice, Martha jolted up from the edge of the bed. Acting as if she had just noticed the carnage, she grabbed Toby by the arm and gave him two incredibly gentle, theatrical pats on the back. She turned to me, squeezing out a painfully fake smile. "Oh, I am so sorry, honey! I took my eyes off him for one second. You know how boys are. He is just a child, you cannot possibly hold a grudge against a little kid." I watched her perform in absolute silence. Slowly, I pulled out my phone and pulled up my digital receipts for the ruined cosmetics. When I held the screen up to her face, the fake smile instantly evaporated. The total was not small. "Listen to me, honey," she said, her tone suddenly shifting from apologetic to patronizing. "You are a married woman and a mother now. You should not be wasting your money on useless vanity items." She bent down, picked up a shattered bottle of luxury serum from the floor, and brazenly wiped the remaining drops of the expensive liquid onto her own face. She rubbed it into her cheeks with a satisfied sigh. "I am older and wiser than you. If you have this kind of money, you should be buying your husband nice suits or getting educational toys for your baby! A man is the pillar of the household. If you don't spend money on him, what kind of wife are you? Besides, this expensive stuff feels exactly like the cheap dollar store cream anyway. It is so greasy!" I stared at her, watching her scrape every last drop of my ruined serum onto her skin, and let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Ah!" Before I could say another word, Toby noticed my dark expression. The little brat actually lunged forward, shoving me hard in the stomach, spitting out a string of foul curses that no six year old should even know. Martha did not correct him. In fact, a glint of twisted pride flashed in her eyes. Suddenly, the urge to explain that my "baby" was a dog vanished completely. If they wanted to play sick games, I could play too. 4 "It is quite alright," I said, taking a deep breath and forcing the corners of my mouth up into a serene smile. Every penny they just cost me, I was going to bleed out of them tenfold. "If Toby likes playing with them, let him have fun. I am a mother too. I understand." I watched Martha's tense shoulders relax as she let go of Toby's hand. I paused for a moment before speaking again, my voice dripping with manufactured innocence. "So, what brings you by today?" Martha slapped her forehead, putting on a spectacular show of realization. "Oh, right! I saw you bought the crib and figured your baby must still be quite young. I kept all of Toby's baby clothes in pristine condition. I brought them over so you could save a little cash for your family!" I chuckled, my smile turning a fraction colder as I quickly cut her off. "Oh, we couldn't possibly accept. You see, we only have the one precious baby, and we are incredibly particular. We only use custom fabrics and organic cotton. I am afraid we just couldn't use second hand clothing. Besides, those outfits hold so many memories for you. You should keep them." Martha's smile froze. She scrambled for an angle. "Well, that is wonderful for your baby! Actually, to tell you the truth, my daughter is due to give birth very soon. If your baby has any high end clothes or toys they have outgrown, you could always pass them down to us." The sound of an abacus clicking in her head was practically deafening. "You know how fast babies grow," I sighed, adopting a look of profound regret. "The clothes cost a fortune, and they barely wear them before they are too small. I actually just bundled them all up and sold them to a luxury consignment shop online. I shipped the boxes out this morning." I glanced up, catching the greed flashing in her eyes. "I had a few premium pieces left, but someone already claimed them. If I cancel the transaction now, the platform will hit me with a massive penalty fee for breaking the contract." She took the bait immediately. "Oh, don't worry about that! How much is the penalty fee? I will cover it." The moment the words left her mouth, I unlocked my phone and pulled up a recent high end purchase receipt, carefully obscuring the date with my thumb. The four digit price tag was displayed in bold black text. "I gave the buyer a fifty percent discount, and they already transferred the funds. If I cancel, I have to refund them double as compensation." "That... well... could you negotiate with them?" she stammered, her eyes darting nervously at the total. "Just give them their money back!" Did she really think she could scam me out of my things for free? Not a chance. She was not leaving this apartment until she paid for my ruined makeup. "Absolutely not. My husband and I have a reputation to maintain. We are not desperate for cash, and I refuse to get a negative review on my profile over something so trivial. You know how the internet is. One bad interaction and people try to ruin your life!" I casually brushed some invisible dog fur off my sleeve. "The courier just picked up the boxes. If you want the clothes, I need to intercept the package right now. My private housekeeper is arriving shortly to clean the bedrooms, so I won't keep you any longer." When people are caught off guard and pressed for time, they rarely stop to think logically. Within two minutes, I had a hefty sum transferred directly into my bank account. Now I actually had enough money to hire a professional cleaning service. Though, the cheap pacifiers and chew toys I had ordered online would not arrive for another two days. The second Martha and Toby walked out the door, I called my mom. I had texted her the moment Martha arrived, warning her to keep Buster out on his walk until I gave the all clear. Usually, Buster had boundless energy, but when my mom finally brought him in, he collapsed on the rug, panting heavily. Turns out, the local elementary school was on break, and Buster had spent two hours running drills with a pack of hyperactive children in the park. Bless the endless stamina of grade schoolers. Ever since I read that creepy forum post, I had forbidden Buster from sleeping in the mahogany crib. I had been genuinely paranoid that some weird fungal infection or mold in the wood might make him sick. But now? I had nothing to worry about. I pulled out a little step stool and placed it right next to the crib. Buster immediately climbed the steps, curled up on the soft mattress, and fell into a deep, snoring sleep. I opened the forum post again, a new question forming in my mind. Getting the clothes was one thing, but how was Martha planning to get my child's name and exact astrological birthdate?
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