Cursed Objects Phasmophobia Novels & Stories

But old habits die hard, and leading meant responsibility. The mark flared again, more insistent this time. A white-hot brand pulsing from inside my forearm, through muscle and bone. My fingers spasmed against my will. I grabbed my arm, squeezing until my knuckles blanched as if I could physically restrain the curse from spreading. My vision blurred at the edges, and the buildings around me were momentarily replaced by a dark chamber, the silhouette of a hooded figure, and the phantom smell of incense and blood. Just as quickly, it was gone, leaving me cold and clammy in the evening air.

A freak accident that left me completely alone in the world. But now, I couldn’t help but wonder. Were they werewolves too? Had they known this would happen to me? Alaric said the curse didn’t activate unless you killed someone. If they were werewolves, had they never triggered the curse? Or was it something else entirely? I glanced at the window, where the light of the setting sun was fading, giving way to the night. The full moon was coming. I could feel it—a strange hum at the back of my mind, growing stronger with each passing moment.

It isn’t much of an escape, however, as my slumber is peppered with nightmares of Father being killed, Ann being captured and tortured; one garish image merging into another until I’m forced to open my eyes. As I return to a state of wakeful awareness, my heart rate spikes up when I sense a presence of another being in the hut. Slowly, hesitantly, I turn to face whoever is in the room. I’m staring into the glowing eyes of a Cursed One. They have found me.

ZEPHYRINE's POV. I stood frozen, my mind reeling in shock. "Cursed!" someone shouted, and the word was taken up by others, echoing through the clearing. "She's cursed, she's cursed, she's cursed! I felt like I'd gotten the wind sucked out of me, that he had reached in and sucked everything from my insides out. The words cut deep, and a part of me couldn't help but wonder one question: Was it me? Am I cursed to have people around me die under these circumstances that are so mysterious?

Evan squeezed harder, making Carmen cough. "Die!" "Do you really want me dead? Don't you want to know where Lyra's head is?" Carmen used the last of her strength to say this. Evan froze for a moment before slowly releasing his grip. After a while, Carmen got up and opened the fridge. There were two glass jars inside with my head and kidney both soaking in formaldehyde.

With a blink of an eye, he was at the entrance of the den, he entered and walked through the walls covered in cobwebs and flickering candles, casting his reflection across the stale air. Thick red velvet curtains adorn the windows and fluttered with the wind, Pascal stepped forward and stood before four vampires. His gaze was cold as he studied them, and the colours of their eyes changed to a deep scarlet, a sign of impending violence. "A werewolf in our den?" one of them growled in annoyance. Pascal darted at them with a speed faster than sound, low groans and moans escaped their mouths, and they fell making flesh thuds. Pascal moved swiftly, killing all the vampires he saw on his way until

I placed my finger on the scanner to unlock it, and before I could even read it, I was thrown into a vision. I was standing in the woods, but these woods were not in pack territory. I struggled to catch my breath, my hands resting on my knees. I was covered in blood, a gash on my forehead that wasn't healing. I started wondering through the brush, not knowing where I was going or where I even came from, fear coursing through me like I was going to die. I hear Damon's wolf hunter howling in pain, and I run towards the sound. I would know that sound anywhere. The vision slows in almost slow motion, and I see my sister Hanna's dead body lying in a clearing with all the trainees from the ranked

I asked with a scoff. "Eternal torment. They have dark, dangerous magic and they use it occasionally on people like us. They have underground dungeons where they keep such victims, the walls of the dungeons are fortified so you can't hear the screams of the victims but if you go close enough, you can feel the chills." She narrated. "Are you just trying to scare me?" I asked and she threw me an annoyed look. "Do I look like I'm kidding? Just be careful, you really don't want to get into trouble." She cautioned and I sighed.

"I don't know. I haven't tried non-directional contact." "Try it now." I turned my back to the object. Sixty feet. I found the current, extended the perception radially instead of directionally, and searched the courtyard. There. Behind me. The dark magic signature of the cursed object, clear as anything I had read at forty feet in the standard direction. I applied disruption. The object went dark. I turned around. Rowan was looking at the now-ordinary piece of iron with the thoughtful expression of someone doing probability calculations.

The floating ruins above them suddenly cracked violently. The realm itself trembled. Elena stumbled. “What’s happening?” The woman’s expression changed instantly. Fear. “Time is up.” The red sky split open suddenly with a deafening sound. The black ocean below them churned violently. “Elena listen to me carefully,” the woman said urgently while approaching her quickly. “The Francesco bloodline is cursed. And the necklace is waking up again.” The water rose higher instantly. Cold waves crashed around Elena’s legs. “What does that mean?!” Elena shouted desperately.