The Cursed Story

Chloe Gomez's POV:

Staring at the bill in his hand, my stomach churned—not out of fear, but from a deep, gnawing hunger.

"Really?" I asked. "You'll really give it to me?"

"Every last cent," he promised.

Without hesitation, I blurted out everything I had seen: the dark, shifting silhouette beneath the veil, the sickeningly sweet smell, the way the incense had violently snuffed out. I painted a vivid picture of a living terror trapped inside that shrine.

But the boys weren't satisfied. "That's not enough. Anyone could make that up. We need proof. Hard proof."

"What kind of proof?" I asked.

He pointed toward the shrine, its heavy wooden doors shut tight against the gathering twilight. "Get the Prophet's veil. Bring it here, and the money is yours."

My mind raced. The Prophet's statue was tall, but not impossible to scale. I could reach it.

I imagined that money. It was enough to buy groceries, maybe even a new dress for my mom. Enough to make her smile, to show her I wasn't just a burden, that I could actually help.

If I did this, maybe she wouldn't be in such a rush to marry me off.

"I'll do it!" I declared, my voice shaking with a mix of dread and desperate hope. "I'll do it tonight!"

I waited until the whole town was asleep, the moon hanging high in the night sky.

The shrine cut a sinister silhouette in the pale moonlight. My fingers fumbled clumsily with the rusted padlock, but a piece of wire surprisingly did the trick.

A sharp click echoed into the dead of night.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open, breaking the silence with a low creak. A single beam of moonlight pierced the gloom, illuminating the path to the Prophet's pedestal.

I wedged a rock against the door, leaving it cracked open just enough so the wind wouldn't blow it shut.

The air inside was freezing, stagnant, and reeked of rot.

A deathly silence enveloped me, broken only by the frantic thudding of my own heartbeat.

I could feel the Prophet's presence—a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on me. But the thought of the money pushed my fear aside.

I climbed onto the altar, then hoisted myself onto the pedestal, my eyes locked on the spot where the Prophet's statue was supposed to be.

But there was nothing there!

The Prophet was gone.

My mind went completely blank as a sudden, paralyzing wave of terror crashed over me.

I stared blankly at the empty space, my hands gripping the edge of the pedestal so hard my knuckles turned white. Where did it go?