Cursed Pictures Novels & Stories

It was an old picture of a house and I could tell that it was the accurate picture of my home, the Kaden home. Underneath the picture was the year it was taken- 1924 I blinked. If the picture was taken in 1924 then the Kaden home was indeed an ancestral home and the curse was older than I thought. Grayham must see this.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, their mother’s voice rose in a broken wail. “Carla! Don’t take one of my children. It’s just me… It’s just me. Don’t make them suffer!” The plea cut through the air like a knife, raw and pleading. Their mother’s eyes were wide with terror, her bound hands twisting against the ropes as she rocked back and forth. The name “Carla” hung in the room like a summoned ghost, a tangible thread linking the present torment to the sins of the past. Eloise and Elena exchanged a glance heavy with shared dread—the curse was stirring again, drawing closer, its tendrils reaching for what little they had left.

"I'm cursed" I clamped my hands over my mouth to prevent me from screaming. "What kind of curse?" I asked curiosity getting the best out of me. "I don't have human feelings, I can't be happy, I can't be sad, I can't fall in love, anything feelings, I don't have" What?! I almost cried for him as he spoke, how did he get cursed? Who did he offend? How does he cope? "Why are you telling me?" I asked.

Cammie looked at me dumbfounded. "Seriously?" she finally asked. "Yes," I nodded. "I don't make it up." "But how could she be the cause?" "She's not normal, Cammie," I said. "You'd already told me that," Cammie pointed out. "No, I mean she's not like anyone else," I said and tried to force the words. "She's- a psychic-vampire." "A psychic what?" Cammie echoed out bewilderingly. "A succubus if you prefer," I said again. "You read a lot. You know what dhampire is. You better know what a succubus means!"

I carried the journals to a clear spot and sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, my phone's flashlight providing light for me as I started going through the pages one after the other. The first two journals were filled with basic healing procedures, but it was the third journal, when I started seeing things I was looking for. A page was titled On the Nature of Curses, and Ways To Break Them. I flipped through pages of diagrams and notes, descriptions of different curse types and their signatures. Blood curses. Bone curses. Soul curses. Each one more dangerous than the last. I was deep into a reading about blood curses when my phone rang unexpectedly. I took a look at the caller ID ready to

"Eurydice, the creature you and Alcides encountered in the woods, the Furion Panther, is no ordinary beast. It is a cursed creature with a history of darkness and misfortune." Eurydice, her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and curiosity, listened intently as Corvus continued. "The Furion Panther was once a majestic and noble creature, known for its beauty and grace. But it fell victim to a dark curse, one that twisted it into a creature of malevolence and rage." Corvus explained that the Furion Panther's curse was the result of a tragic event, one that had cast a shadow over its existence. He revealed the creature's history, a tale of betrayal and suffering that had led it down a path of

It always happens whenever I'm scared. "Calm down, Cara, lest you reveal your powers to him," Hana whispers angrily. "If that happens we can kiss this place goodbye because we'll be thrown out as bad bloods." Bad bloods. Otherwise known as the Ruined, or the Cursed. The spoilt apples.

The woman spoke, her voice drenched in finality. It was a mere take, so why did it unravel his insides, filling him with a surge of desperation that was unexplainable to him. "Why can't it be stopped? Isn't there a way they could avert the curse? " he found himself asking. "In each life and whichsoever from they took, Herak's soul would always crave his Ara. He is already darkness, the darkness only need to be triggered, then it will break free, causing endless calamities"

Cursed my body to endure when all others would fade. Lust became my chain, immortality my cage. I was left to walk through centuries alone, surrounded by obsession, without a pack, without protection, without anyone to stand between me and the hunger I inspired. They called it punishment. I called it survival. And what a body it was. Cursed or blessed, the distinction had long since blurred. I was not blind to it. The weight of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the shape of my arse—men stared, women stared. I knew precisely why. My mouth betrayed me most of all, lips too full, too soft, as though fashioned for begging or being bitten, claimed.

It took me a while to calm my thumping chest while the strong wind was slapping me in the cemetery. I took one last deep breath before I started walking. I stopped when I almost stepped on a wallet on the lawn. My brows crossed as I looked around, slightly hoping that Ken was still around but there was no sign of him anymore. I picked up the wallet to check what was inside, just to confirm if it was owned by Ken. My brows crossed at the picture of a woman in the wallet. It was an old picture, looking vintage with its wrinkled photo paper and somehow fading colours.