There’s a house in the field just outside the town.
People thought it was haunted and they told stories about the strange things that lie in its depths.
Nobody knows what’s really there, so they talk about the monsters and the ghosts,
But the people who really go there, they see it.
Not the house.
The decay, the emptiness, the holes in the walls that are framed by darkness,
Slowly creeping, spreading.
They feel it in the very air and they run from it.
This place, touched long ago by a dark power.
Slowly fading, wasting, haunted by the fears of those who run.
No, not haunted, cursed.
For these people all feared it.
They did not know.
The only thing that could stop it was someone who was brave enough,
Someone who would not run .
Someone who would not leave at all, but move closer, reach foward and with a hand,
Or maybe just a single finger, touch it
And it knows, one day, this will happen.
That is destined,
But now it sits forgotten, neglected,
Fading on this hill.
And it is healed, that day, because someone watches it, and they see:
This is the true curse.