In the cloistered silence of my room, surrounded by the towering piles of books and parchment that bore the weight of my academic endeavors, I found myself ensnared in an endeavor of a decidedly different nature. The night had wrapped its velvety cloak around the world outside, the only light emanating from the solitary lamp that cast an amber glow across my desk. It was in this secluded haven that the peculiar began to intertwine with the mundane.
As I pored over my textbooks, the symbols and letters began to dance before my eyes, an inexplicable phenomenon that seemed to mock the very essence of logic I clung to. I blinked, hoping to clear the bewildering mirage, yet the words wove themselves into a sequence that chilled me to the bone—a sequence that echoed the ominous curse I had unwittingly stumbled upon within the dusty confines of a forgotten volume.
The air around me grew thick, as if charged with ancient magic. I found my voice, a mere whisper, trembling in the stillness, "This cannot be real." Yet the mocking dance of the words on the page continued unabated, shaping themselves into the sinister promise of the curse I had read:
'Those whose eyes look upon the text, Forever floating, I welcome thee, To the curse of me.'
A shiver ran through me, the room seemingly closing in as if to contain the growing terror that threatened to consume me. Laughter, light and haunting, filled the air, a sound without a source, a specter of madness in the quiet of the night.
Compelled by a force beyond my understanding, I snapped the book shut, as my eyes flung open and I awoke in my bed in a cold sweat.
I wait as my heart rate begins to go down. I curse out loud. Now I'm having nightmares about this garbage, give me a break. I roll over and try to go back to sleep without any success. I look over and see the time read 5:56 AM. I sigh, since I'm up I might as well go on a run. I've been trying to get more active. My therapist had told me intense exercise can help with anxious thoughts, time to put that to the test.
The morning air was crisp, a thin layer of mist hanging over the campus grounds as I set out for my run. The world felt different in the early light, quieter, almost contemplative. It was as if, in these solitary hours, I could run from the confusion and fear that the night had brought, leaving behind the whispers of curses and the dance of shifting words for a reality more tangible, more immediate.
As my feet pounded the pavement, the rhythm became a meditation, each step a beat in a mantra that willed my mind to clear. The physical exertion, the steady throb of my heart against my ribs, the cool air filling my lungs—all of it worked to push the eerie experiences to the back of my mind. With each stride, I felt a measure of control returning, a reclaiming of the sanity I feared was slipping away.
The campus was waking up slowly, the first rays of sunlight piercing through the trees, casting long shadows that stretched across the path. Birds chirped, heralding the new day with songs of indifference to human worries and supernatural fears. It was grounding, a reminder that life went on, oblivious to the turmoil that churned within me.
By the time I circled back to my dorm, the world was bathed in the golden hue of morning. Students began to emerge, some with coffee in hand, others with books tucked under their arms, all caught up in the currents of a life that moved relentlessly forward. I was one of them, outwardly at least, a student with assignments to complete and classes to attend.
Following the run at dawn, the earth beneath my feet seemed more solid, as if the very act of running had placed a tangible distance between myself and the disquieting secrets unearthed the night prior. Nevertheless, the recesses of my mind buzzed incessantly with queries left unanswered, a relentless drone that refused to be quelled. The exertion had served as a fleeting refuge, a brief sojourn back to the realm of the mundane, yet as the campus awoke around me, it was evident the day held promises far from the ordinary.
The crisp air of morning, paired with the light of the sun, seemed to breathe new life into the dormant campus. Students, one by one, emerged, each ensconced in their own worlds, blissfully unaware of the storm that had taken root in mine. Making my way to the day's first lecture, the weight of my backpack served as a comforting reminder of who I once was before the book, before the whisper of the curse began its incessant murmuring.
Lectures commenced in a haze, the voices of my professors melding into a monotonous hum against the canvas of my thoughts. I found my attention wavering, words on the pages before me beginning to shift in an all-too-familiar dance, an eerie echo of the book's haunting incantations. Shaking my head, I endeavored to banish such visions, to ground myself once more in the tangibility of the classroom and the solidity of my textbooks.
It was amidst a pause between classes that fate chose to steer my day down an unanticipated path. Navigating the crowded hallways, I found myself abruptly colliding with a fellow student, our collision sending my notes fluttering like leaves in a storm across the floor.
"Oh, my apologies," came a voice, imbued with genuine concern. Glancing up, I was met with the sight of a young man stooping to assist in the retrieval of my scattered papers, his expression laden with regret. Our eyes locked, and within his gaze, I perceived a spark of something that halted me—a flicker of comprehension, or perhaps, a shared intrigue.
"It's entirely my fault, I'm sorry. I was lost in thought," I responded, my voice finding an unexpected steadiness.
Together, we gathered the remnants of my notes, and upon receiving the last of them from Sebastian, his smile radiating warmth. "I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you before. Might you be new here?"
A laugh escaped me, brief and tinged with nerves. "Not at all, merely... preoccupied. I'm studying chemistry," I confessed.
"A scientist," he remarked, a glint of fascination in his eyes. "My name is Sebastian. I delve in anthropology, though I hold a fervent interest in mysteries of all natures."
The mention of 'mysteries' lingered in the air between us. "I'm Ellie," I offered, feeling an unexpected pull towards the dialogue despite my initial hesitation. "It's a pleasure, Sebastian."
As we parted, the memory of our exchange stayed with me, a soothing diversion from the relentless lure of the curse. Sebastian's curiosity in mysteries seemed hardly fortuitous, stirring within me the question of whether our meeting was fated.
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YOU ARE READING
The Curse
Algemene fictieEllie, a university student, discovers a mysterious book that inexplicably binds her to a curse.