The curse

“Somebody help me!” Daisy screamed, her voice piercing the night like a wounded animal’s cry. She kept wailing, her throat raw, her body trembling as her shrieks echoed into the darkness. “This can’t be possible… I can’t lose my husband again,” she sobbed, collapsing to her knees as grief tore through her chest like a storm. Her cries carried on, relentless, until suddenly—she heard it. Footsteps. At first, faint, almost hidden within the stillness of the night. Then louder. Heavy. Each step seemed to shake the ground, rattling the air with a force like an earthquake. Daisy froze, her tears drying on her cheeks, replaced by dread. The temperature dropped instantly. A bone-chilling cold swept across the room as if death itself had opened a door. Outside her window, the trees groaned as leaves fell unnaturally fast, cascading to the ground as though plagued. Then came the voice. Deep. Strange. Inhuman. “You’re mine.” The words made her skin crawl. Goosebumps erupted across her arms as she shivered violently. She dared not look up at first, but her fear was outweighed by curiosity—and a need to know what haunted her. Slowly, trembling, she lifted her head. And there it was. The figure loomed above her, impossibly tall, its form grotesque and terrifying. It looked like a giant, its body drenched in blood, a tattered red cloth draped around its massive frame. The stench of death reeked from its skin, making her gag. “Oh, God…” Daisy’s voice cracked. “What is this?!” The creature tilted its head, its hollow eyes burning into her soul. “Hahaha…” It laughed, the sound echoing like thunder rolling over mountains. “You know me. I don’t need to introduce myself. I’ve been in your family for generations.” Daisy’s lips quivered. “N-no… no, that’s not possible.” The thing continued, ignoring her denial. “I am the story told to you in whispers at night. The bedtime tales you thought were superstition. I am older than your house, older than your city. I am the deity of your bloodline.” Her body froze. “I bring wealth,” it declared, raising its bloodied hands. “Wealth that has made your family a household name for generations. Sugar. Trade. Fortune. All of it—mine to give, mine to take. Your ancestors made a pact with me. And the price…” The deity’s voice deepened, sending vibrations through the floor. “Every female child born into this family must be dedicated to me. They must marry me first before any mortal man, or else…” It leaned closer, its breath hot and foul against Daisy’s face. “Any man they wed will not live long. They will all die—mysteriously, tragically, one after the other.” “No!” Daisy shrieked, forcing herself to her feet. “You’re a liar!” Her voice cracked through the silence, but the weight of her defiance felt small against the shadow towering over her. The deity only smirked, its laugh curdling the air. “Believe me or don’t. It changes nothing. You belong to me.” Daisy’s scream ripped through the night. And then— She jolted awake. Her chest heaved, her body drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the silence deafening. With trembling hands, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. 2:00 a.m. The exact same time. Again. Her tears came instantly. “No… no, not again.” For the second time that week, the same dream had come. The same bloodied figure. The same haunting curse. Always at 2 a.m. Daisy tried to calm herself, whispering aloud as though to anchor herself in reality. “It’s just a dream. Just my mind… I’m mourning. My head is playing tricks on me.” But her own words felt hollow, drowned out by the echo of the deity’s laughter still ringing in her ears. She curled into herself, sobbing. “I’m so tired… I just want to die. I can’t take it anymore.” Her body shook violently as she choked on her tears. ⸻ Daisy was twenty-eight years old, yet her soul felt decades older, weathered by grief. She had been married only a year to David, a man full of life and energy, when tragedy struck. Thirty years old, brilliant and ambitious, he had just begun to make his mark as a lawyer. But death came suddenly, cruelly, and without warning. Her voice broke as she cried into her pillow, “Why? Why, God? How can such an energetic man just… die?” The memory consumed her. David had been her second husband. She had lost her first to cancer only years before. And when David entered her life, she believed fate had finally given her a second chance. He had filled the aching void in her heart, made her laugh again, taught her to hope. And then he was gone. Two husbands. Two graves. One woman left broken. Daisy felt cursed, even before the dream. “Why are these unfortunate things happening to me?” she whispered into the night, her voice hoarse from weeping. Her sobs filled the empty mansion. It was the same routine every night: she would cry until exhaustion consumed her. Tonight was no different. Hours later, she collapsed into restless sleep, her face swollen, her chest heavy with sorrow. ⸻ By day, Daisy lived in solitude. She had dismissed every maid, every worker, every driver after David’s death. The mansion—seven bedrooms, grand halls, marble floors—stood hollow, echoing only her loneliness. It was not the house she had shared with David. No, she had closed that one, unable to bear the memories embedded in its walls. The mansion she lived in now was new, built after her first husband’s death. She had poured her grief into its creation, working side by side with her best friend and architect, Jessy. Jessy had been her lifeline. They were the same age, had attended the same schools, shared the same childhood secrets. Their bond was so deep that people often mistook them for twins. Jessy, with her husband and two little children, represented everything Daisy longed for. She had adored Jessy’s children, spoiling them as though they were her own. She took them shopping, traveled with them on vacations, laughed with them in ways she hadn’t laughed in years. Every giggle, every tiny hug, had filled her with joy… and an ache. Because deep inside, Daisy wanted children of her own. It was her only real desire. Money, status, luxury—none of it mattered. With her family’s sugar empire, she couldn’t even spend half her inheritance if she tried. What she yearned for was simple: a family. A husband who would stay. Children who would call her “Mom.” A home not haunted by shadows of grief. But that dream seemed cursed. Two men gone. No child. No peace. And now, the dream-figure reminded her why. ⸻ Every night, Daisy’s thoughts returned to the deity’s words. Every female child must marry me first… or their husbands will die. She hated herself for believing even a fraction of it. But how could she ignore the pattern? How could she dismiss the timing? The curse seemed woven into her very veins. By day, she told herself she was strong, practical, educated. She had a degree, she knew about psychology, she could rationalize trauma. But by night—at 2 a.m.—she was a frightened child again, hearing the bedtime stories whispered by her grandmother. Tales of a red deity who gave wealth in exchange for souls. Tales she had dismissed as folklore, myths to scare children into obedience. Now those stories returned, no longer harmless. They lived in her dreams. And Daisy began to wonder: what if they were never just stories? What if they were her fate?