The Cursed Story

During a college retreat, we hosted a storytelling competition.

They just kept egging me on, completely oblivious to the terrifying disaster it would invite.

I said, "The story I'm about to tell is a curse."

"Everyone who has ever heard this story has died."

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Chapter 1

Chloe Gomez's POV:

A group of us college students were huddled together at the annual campus retreat, laughing loudly and drinking cheap beer.

Someone shouted, "Another one! Who's up next?"

The storytelling competition was a campus tradition.

The winner wouldn't just earn bragging rights; they’d secure a prime spot in the Student Government.

"Chloe! You haven't told a single story yet!" Kevin, the assistant to the student body president, called me out.

I drew in a sharp breath.

A few others chimed in. "Come on, Chloe! Don't be shy!"

I shook my head, putting on a show of reluctance.

"My story isn't like yours," I said, keeping my voice low. "It's not the kind of tale you tell around a campfire just for a quick laugh."

"Oh? Why not? Too scary?"

I looked straight at Holden Horn. That charismatic smile of his never faltered, radiating charm across the crowd.

He was the student body president—popular, well-connected, and filthy rich.

"Because," I said, "my story has consequences. Deadly ones. Everyone who has ever heard it has died."

A pin-drop silence fell over the crowd, but it only lasted for a second. Then, a ripple of excited whispers spread through the group.

"Oh, I love a good threat!" someone chimed in, sounding thrilled.

They thought my warning was just a cheap trick to build suspense.

Holden Horn, always the center of attention, let out a soft chuckle.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Come on, Chloe," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Don't hold out on us. We all want to scare ourselves a little, right?"

He looked around for approval, and the crowd immediately murmured their agreement.

I felt a familiar tremor in my hands, a ghostly echo of a terror from my past.

"My story isn't fiction," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "It's a real piece of history."

That drew another collective gasp, this one sounding a bit more genuine.

"It took place in a town where faith wasn't just a word; it was a cage. There were rules, taboos, and if you broke them, they didn't just punish you—they consumed you."

My gaze lingered on Holden for a moment. He shifted slightly, an indiscernible flicker crossing his eyes.

"And speaking of these taboos," I continued, dropping my voice to a whisper, "could invite fatal disasters. Or worse."

A sudden chill swept through the crowd.

A few girls pulled their blankets tighter around themselves, their initial excitement now tangling with genuine unease.

"If it's a taboo, maybe you shouldn't tell it? Can we just do a different story?"

But others, like Holden, seemed only more intrigued.

"I... I don't think I should say it," I stammered, hesitating. "Some things are better left unsaid."

"No!" a chorus of voices objected at once, their curiosity overriding everything else. "Tell us, Chloe! You have to!"

I let out a heavy sigh, acting as though I had been backed into a corner.

"Alright," I conceded reluctantly, letting a hint of a quiver slip into my voice. "But if I'm going to take this risk, all of you are in this with me."

"No one leaves until I finish the story. Deal?" I managed to force a tight smile.

Holden, always the alpha, saw this as a chance to flex his authority.

He stood up and clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone! Gather 'round! Chloe's about to tell us a story, and it sounds like a killer!"

His booming voice drew in the stragglers from the edges of the campsite.

Soon, everyone was seated, forming a tight, intimate circle around the fire.

Every single pair of eyes was locked on me.

"If you're from the deep country, you might have heard of some obscure, backwoods beliefs."

"In my hometown," I said softly, "we worshipped a very different kind of deity. She wasn't a god from heaven, nor a spirit of the earth. No, our god was... special."

"We called her the Prophet."

I took a slow, deep breath, letting the freezing night air fill my lungs.

"And I," I whispered, "I touched her. I saw her. And that day... became a nightmare that I still haven't woken up from."