Curse of the Sefus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

The short story of how the curse of the Sefus came to be. Originally a creative english essay, written in light of Arthur Conan Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes: The Hound of the Baskervilles".

 

To my sons and descendants;

Of how the Spirits of the Sefus came to be, many stories have been told. Yet they are naught but fantasies. As I come in a direct line from Asseka Sefu, and as I had the testimony from my father, and he from his, I have preserved in papyrus the true story of how our curse had been bestowed upon us. I have full belief that it will continue from here onwards, though I have never before wished so fervently that I am to be mistaken. But believe, my sons, that the Justice which punishes our sins may also forgive us, and the good deeds done may one day halt the evil that has ever since haunted our family. Learn from this tale to never give up, and no matter how terrible the things thrown towards you are, withstand it, and you will triumph. Do good, and eventually, the evil lurking within the family may be undone.

Know then that in the time of the great slavery, my great-great-grandfather had gained much from the terrible dealing of slaves. How hideous and cruel a man he was, to not only enslave others, but those from his own clan! He betrayed his companions and family, even his wife, who was at that time large with a child, simply because he would profit from it. From this day forth, his obsession with enslavement and money grew, and soon, he had become richer than any man’s dreams. But it was at an evil price, and that he knew. Fearing everyone, including his most trusted counterparts, he fled into the desert, and from there began to create his own empire. Driven by greed and his malicious thoughts, he set out to make him and any descendants of his forever rich and joyous. And yet, that is the reason our family is doomed to suffer.

Over the endless desert, in the midst of which Asseka was hidden, slaves silently trooped across the scorching sand. The large, golden sun was low in the crimson sky, and the air still and hazy with the heat. Apart from the humans, nothing moved, nor was there any hint of life. The dunes stretched over and beyond the heavens, and these poor souls were marched to their destination by menacing soldiers. The terrified children caught their first sight of their new home and prison. It was a half-built but still immense pyramid, made of thousands of stone blocks, and looked like it had grown from the very sand it sat upon. It would have been a magnificent sight, had it not been the heart of such an evil place.

An imposing figure with cropped black hair and dark, burnt brown skin appeared. He was well built and handsome, in a demonic fashion. But most stunning were his eyes. They were a pure black, the evil he’d done seeming to have clouded his vision and taken hold of him, so they say. These bottomless eyes full of poison assessed the slaves coldly, who were no doubt cowering under the nefarious glare that was rumored to be able to stop a lion in its tracks.

As was his routine, he ordered them to the other slaves at work hauling large pyramid blocks. And as was his tradition, like a hunting wolf he chose the youngest, weakest child lagging behind to make an example of. When he whimpered, Asseka was immediately upon him, screaming and whipping like the devil, eyes ablaze with the flames of hell. Across the entire area the high pitched wails and sounds of agony could be heard, as well as cruel laughter. Not a single person dared to utter a word, nor was any help offered until finally, the shrieks subsided and the little boy lay still. Asseka kicked the bleeding body one final time, and walked away with a foul air of satisfaction. The unnatural hush hung over the rest of the day, as the slaves silently mourned the loss of another innocent life. But only in silence they mourned, for they dared not show any sign of regret in fear of Asseka's wrath.

For many weeks since Asseka had begun these wicked deeds of his, things were well for him. I believe the gods had sent a warning to him during this grace period, a strike of lightning to befall his precious food supplies. Alas, instead of recognizing the dark omen, it sent him into a rage and he forced his slaves to work harder than ever. His heart was completely gnawed away at by his malevolent thoughts and desires, and his mind so corrupt that everyone believed he was the human incarnate of the devil. There was no going back for him. And one of those nights, the curse began.

When the mesmerizingly bright, silver stars could be seen scattered across the black sky, and the moon had turned a pearly white, the first of the voices came. Softly, they whispered to Asseka words no one else could hear. He took no notice of them, and thought of them as no more than an irritant. Until the next night the returned, more persistent than before and just the slightest bit louder. Again and again, they came back with the night, slowly transforming from hushed murmurs to sinister howls that rang in his head. Occasionally he caught glimpses of the voices' faces, faces of all the children he'd ever enslaved, tortured and killed, though he was never sure whether they were nightmares or true spirits, so rattled was he. He grew ever more petrified, fear pushing him to the brink of delirium, and his only comfort was to torture more children every day, though this only increased the voices.

And one night, he lay huddled in his bed within the pyramid, two guards stationed outside his door. A lamp full of oil lit the room, illuminating his frightened and feverish face as he fought sleep. Anxiety had overwhelmed his mind, and the once prideful and intimidating man was reduced to a cowardly, shivering weakling who, I am sure, would have done anything to end that nightmare. Suddenly, the lamp went out. Cursing, Asseka fumbled for a match when a ghostly, blue white light flickered into life before him. Taking form, this light transformed into the ghost of the very first child he'd ever enslaved, and when it spoke, he heard the voice which always led the attacks on his mind. Aghast and paralyzed with terror, no doubt, Asseka stared, unable to move as an increasingly large army of tortured souls assembled before him. They hung before him, bloody, with blank, unseeing eyes. And then slowly, painfully so, they converged on him. Asseka screamed louder than he'd ever screamed before, yet not a sound could be heard from outside the door. Asseka most likely felt only one cold, fear inducing touch before he fell dead from abhorrence and the fatigue of staying up too many nights. I only pray to the gods that you will never have to experience that freezing touch that causes your skin to go clammy with cold sweat and renders you immobile. Or hear those voices, which bring out your worst memories, and shall cause you a misery that will haunt you to your final days.

Such is the tale of the coming of the ghosts that have plagued our family ever since. Let this caution you of the uncertain future our family has and what may come to haunt you, for fear of the unknown holds more terror than knowing what may approach. And as long as you live, I beseech you never to stray near another pyramid. For to those of our name, they are cursed, and to enter one would allow the ghosts to claim you for once and for all. So I urge you, no matter what is said by the voices, no matter how terrifying they may become, do not follow their whispered instructions to enter our ancestor's tomb, or else your fate is sealed and you are at the avenging souls' mercy. But take comfort that until manhood, you are safe, and by day no ghost can touch you. And now, with this warning, I can help no more. My time is nearing an end. So take heed of my words, and perhaps with time and acts of good, our chains will dissolve, and our family, slave to the curse, may finally be set free.

 

Amadi Sefu


Submitted: September 21, 2012

© Copyright 2021 M387. All rights reserved.

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