The Cursed Story

Chloe Gomez's POV:

The air around the campfire crackled.

They were completely hooked—eyes wide, practically buzzing with anticipation.

"There were two main taboos concerning the Prophet," I continued, keeping my voice low.

"Everyone in Providence Creek lived by these two rules. At least, that's what they claimed."

I paused, letting my gaze sweep over every face in the circle before landing on Holden. He was leaning forward, hanging on my every word.

"First," I went on, "you must never look directly at the Prophet. Never look at her face, and especially never look into her eyes."

I remember the Prophet's face was always shrouded in a thick, heavy black veil. The way it fluttered slightly hinted at the horrors hidden beneath. Even as a child, its mere presence triggered a primal dread in me.

"And the second rule," I added. "You must never mention her name to outsiders, nor speak a word about her."

"It was a secret, a sacred trust passed down through generations. They said this secret protected us."

I never understood why back then.

The story begins when I was just a naive, innocent little girl. It was the first time I ever stepped foot inside the Prophet's shrine.

The air inside was thick with the suffocating scent of ancient incense, masking a sickeningly sweet, rotting odor. The light was dim, barely filtering through the grime-caked windows.

I was young and full of curiosity.

The Prophet's statue stood on a pedestal—a gaunt, frail figure draped in silk robes. Her face was completely obscured by that thick black veil.

I knew the rules, but a child's mind simply cannot resist curiosity. I reached out a tiny hand and tugged at the edge of the veil.

"Chloe, no!" My mother's voice was shrill. Her hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back with unexpected sheer force.

I jumped, my heart hammering in my chest.

She pulled me down, forcing me to bow my head toward the statue.

She started burning incense, sprinkling the granules into the censer. As the smoke curled upward, she began whispering frantic prayers. I stared at the censer. The embers flickered for a moment, and then, instead of dying down, they... stayed lit, refusing to turn to ash.

My mother's face twisted in sudden panic.

"This is your fault, Chloe," she said, her voice dripping with suppressed terror. "You defied the Prophet's will. She won't accept my offering."

She had to go buy more incense. I knew how precious money was to us. We were barely scraping by, let alone having extra cash to burn for a god. My mother worked her fingers to the bone just to feed us. Every single penny mattered.

While her back was turned to light another piece of wood, my childish resentment flared up again.

I hated that Prophet. I hated the rules, and I hated the fear they planted in my mother's eyes. I wanted answers. I wanted to prove them all wrong. So, I sneaked around to the back of the statue.

The Prophet was said to be an ancient, mysterious guardian who could foresee the future, predict harvests, and ward off evil. The townsfolk claimed that Providence Creek’s prosperity was all thanks to her.

But as I stood behind her, I thought of my mother's calloused hands and her hollow eyes. What exactly had this Prophet foreseen for us?

"If you're really so powerful," I whispered, "why can't you help my mom? Why are we so poor?"

The embers in the censer suddenly extinguished. Not a slow fade, not a lingering trail of smoke, but a sharp, instantaneous hiss, like something having the breath choked out of it.

A violent shiver shot down my spine. I leaned in closer, my heart pounding against my ribs. Through the Prophet's veil, I thought I saw something... moving.

Beneath the black silk, something was writhing.

Before I could process it, strong hands grabbed me, roughly dragging me out of the shrine.

"You two," a deep voice barked. "Are never allowed back in here."

My mother, pale as a ghost, didn't argue. She just gripped me tightly, her fingers digging in so hard it hurt.

She was absolutely furious. Her usually dull, defeated eyes were now ablaze with a rare anger I had hardly ever seen.

"You fool!" She shook me. "What did you do?"

I broke free from her grasp and ran. I ran until my lungs burned.

Finally, I reached the edge of town, where a group of older boys blocked my path. The Mayor's son was among them.

"Look who it is," one of them sneered. "Chloe, did you see her eyes? Did you see the witch's true face?"

The Mayor's son stepped forward, waving a crisp bill in his hand. "Tell us what you saw, Chloe. Just tell us what's under the veil. And this cash is yours."

A hundred bucks. It was more money than I had ever seen in my entire life.