It's Your Curse Now

Anna Kingsley and her family are different from others. They have the ability to protect themselves from a curse that has the potential to be fatal to everyone else. Will the curse eventually wear off, or will the unthinkable happen?

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2. Terrified and bleeding

The gravel rocks in the driveway make a crunching noise, indicating the arrival of someone. I hear the soft chair rustle as I gingerly push myself up and make my way to the front door.

A large, balding man wearing all black greets me, and I feel a bubble of panic settle in my stomach as I observe the balaclava that is protecting his identity. I have no time to react, because his crushing body weight hurls into me as he pins me against the wall, and I can feel a sting of pain as the knife held in his stubby hand is pressed against the skin at my throat.

For a moment, I consider kicking him in a sensitive spot that will hopefully cause him to keel over in pain, allowing me to make a run for it, but then I hear the unmistakable click of the door swinging shut, and there goes my escape plan, gone nearly as fast as it had appeared.

My neck is numb from where the point of the knife pierces my skin and my shoulders slump in defeat, because right now, I see no way out of this. I have no idea who he is, nor what he wants from me, let alone if I even have what he wants.

His deep, menacing voice sounds in my ears, echoing around the whole house as the sound particles bounce from wall to wall, and for a second I am filled with hope that maybe, just maybe, he has realized how much he has terrified me and is going to let me go. Not a chance.

"Give me the jug!" He barks at me, and I cringe back against the wall. Not because I am dead scared of the menace and the hatred saturating his voice, like I am scared of him as a person. No, I cringe away in terror because his voice is so familiar. So familiar, in fact, that I just can't pinpoint who it belongs to. 

"I don't know what you're talking about" I gasp, and then yelp in pain as he digs the knife harder into my throat. Believe it or not, my words are true. I wouldn't dare lie to this dangerous man who, quite frankly, frightens the life out of me.

He removes the knife from my throat, and the hand clamped over my mouth drops to his side, creating a loud 'bang' as it slaps against his leg.

His long strides carry him over to the other side of the living room, planting his feet on the ground when he reaches the vintage glass cabinet. My legs collapse and I find myself lying face down on the prickly carpet. The carpet that once used to be irritating to me is now a haven. Anything to have his grimy hands off of me and his massive body as far away from me as possible.

I gasp and gasp, overjoyed to have fresh air back in my lungs after the pressure of the knife against my throat had cut off most of my oxygen.

The normal, humane thing to do would be to run, to attempt to escape while he was obviously distracted, but I was simply too exhausted to even move, so I just lay there on the ground, hoping a meteor will fall from the sky and squish him to death. Not likely.

The sharp sound of glass shattering makes me jump, surprised. The bastard smashed my cabinet! That isn't the worst of my worries, though. Not even close. There is still the part where he might kill me if he doesn't find what he came for, and the part where he is now holding one of my most prized possessions, yet also one of my least favourite, with a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

It is a very intricate piece of pottery, carved into the shape of a jug, with a long spout and beautiful designs painted onto the smooth, brown surface. To an outsider, it may just look like a normal jug, a collectors piece maybe, purchased simply from a market or second hand shop. But I knew better.

It wasn't just an ordinary kitchen utensil. In fact, ordinary is the last word I would use to describe it. This particular piece has been in my family for centuries, passed down from generation to generation, and was home to a very unusual and mystical inhabitant. A genie. Yes, the 'jug' was in fact a genie in a bottle. And let me tell you, I swear this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

It wasn't as simple as that, though. There was just one 'little' catch. It was a cursed genie in a bottle. To everyone except my family, the Kingsley's. We had the ability to block the curse, to stop it from affecting us, somehow.

I was suddenly away of a crushing pain in my stomach, and I found that my hands were unconsciously tugging up my shirt to find a large bruise already forming there. I looked up in time to see the un named intruder shoulder barge his way out my front door, casting one last evil glance at me. He must have taken advantage of my dazed state to land a kick in my stomach as a departing gesture.

I let out the breath I hadn't known I had been holding, laying my head back against the carpet as a wave of relief washed through me, numbing my body.

I watched as the old blue Ford sped down the driveway and onto the road, the dodgy paint job glistening in the moon light. The sound of screeching tires and a loud smash was able to be heard as the car rounded the corner.

I laughed, thinking of the terrible, terrible events that would soon be occurring, making his life a living hell, like it deserved to be.

"Have fun with that curse" I chuckled under my breath.

He'll get what he deserves.

 

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