The Dreaded Curse

The Dreaded Curse

The dark and dingy room swayed before his bloodshot eyes, he had not been sleeping for days. The trees outside shook in the strong wind as though their arms were waving helplessly. The cracked glass in the window was razor sharp: daring somebody to come and test its sharpness. The sofa was black with grime and incredibly sunk in; the putrid smell that wafted in the air was almost unbearable, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls at every corner. The one light in the room flickered on and off feebly. There were cracks in the ceiling and the walls alike but for Travers this shack was his home.

Travers wandered around the room his shabby clothing (that was three sizes too big for him) was falling off his shoulder more and more with every step that he took. His crumpled up shirt with holes in was far from decent and his trousers that were once grey were black with filth. Travers was not a handsome man and had many distorting features: his ragged black hair filled with knots covered his pale forehead; his blue eyes had gone many weeks ago and in their place were red bloodshot ones; the bags under his eyes were those of an elderly woman. Sweat poured down his face and it was nothing to do with the heat of the room. Travers wiped his brow and slowly trod around the room. “He’s coming,” he thought. Shaking, Travers sat down onto the ancient settee. His fingers, which were extremely pale, could not stop shaking. His body hunched over as if he was protecting himself from pain and harm.

Travers slowly lifted his head and menacingly trod towards the door. Thunk, his boots stepped out onto the solid concrete as he locked up the shack that he called home. Rain sloshed onto his clothes making them cling to hi...

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...ped with pain but continued to run faster. He raced upstairs with the man hot on his heels. Travers heart was racing as he jumped off the banister into the hallway; this just angered the man even more. The man turned to follow Travers but when he climbed up onto the banister, the knife slipped out of his hand and he fell. The blade landed point up as the man fell and the blade punctured his chest the man lay front down on the floor, dead as a mouse caught in a mousetrap.

“No! Not my brother, I am ever so sorry that I killed your wife that night. It was an accident, please forgive me!” cried Travers.

He broke down onto the floor in a flood of tears, and took the knife from his brother’s heart and plunged it into his left ventricle piercing his heart. Travers was dead. Silence was the only noise in the shack; the dreaded curse had finally been lifted off the shack.