The curse house

"Follow me!" Althur demanded, grabbing Brahms by the arm and dragging him away from the chaos. Althur clutched a crumpled map in his other hand, checking it every few seconds to make sure they were on the right track.

When he was walking a distance, Althur stopped suddenly and raised his hand as if trying to grab something.

"What is it?" Brahms asked, alarmed at his reaction. His eyes blinked a few times before widening to take in his surroundings.

Althur didn't answer. His eyes narrowed, as if he saw something beyond this world. Beyond the realm of reality, eerie and fading auras swirled wildly in his vision. He felt changes in the environment caused by a force. He realized what was happening.

"A space of corruption," he whispered.

Space corruption was a remnant of the Force's influence, a subtle but sinister power that affected people with mysterious syndromes. It was too weak for the church to notice, but strong enough to curse the land and make people suspicious.

It was a cramped and creaky house, sealed off from the world like a coffin, its twisted door barely holding, barely letting in daylight. The aura of corruption emanated from it.

"Don't go there, boys. That place is cursed. A frail old woman warned them. She was leaning against a crumbling hut, gasping for breath.

When the old woman realized they had no intention of stopping, she continued to scream at the top of her lungs, "Don't you dare go there, you fool. That place is cursed."

To most people, she would have seemed like a madwoman, but he knew better. He could sense the presence of death in this place. It had seeped into the earth and the air, corrupting everything it touched. He wondered what Bishop Calico was up to—or was he too busy farming? He hoped it wasn't what he least wanted.

"Shut your trap, you hag." A little girl's voice came from inside a shabby building. She pushed the rotten door with all her strength, trying to block out the old woman's voice. She looked no older than Brahms. Her black hair and eyes contrasted with her pale skin, making her look like a walking corpse.

"If you don't stop yapping, I'll sic my brother on you. He'll lock you up in the morgue with the other dead bodies." A weak voice with a hint of horror came from the gap.

"You wicked child, you and your brother are both cursed. You are ghosts who walk in daylight. You have no right to live, so you steal the souls of the living."

"Stay away from them, gentlemen. They are the cursed ones. They suck the life out of people to keep themselves alive. They are the ones who crawl out of their coffins. Stay away, stay away them."

"Easy there, old lady. We mean no harm. But why are you picking on this kid?" Althur expressed. He doesn't like things that are too noisy around him.

Althur looked at the old woman, who looked as frail as a rag doll. "Do you know the little girl's brother?" he asked.

"Dead man. He rose from his grave, a hideous and rotting corpse, driven by a hunger for revenge." She spat out the words in a raspy voice and pointed a bony finger at the pale child across the road.

"You're a liar."

"Both of them will be cursed." They attacked each other verbally, but the other girl seemed to be weaker than the worn-out old woman. She only tried to intimidate the old woman with weak curses.

"I'm a friend of the girl's brother." Althur announced it without concern.

"You're Peter's sister, aren't you?" He said it out loud to the girl.

The girl winced and nodded, uncomfortable at hearing her brother's name. Hardly anyone here called him that. If he hadn't found work on the other side of town, people would have been even more hostile to them. They had suffered enough.

The old woman looked at the two strangers with panic and said, Demon, spawn of the devil." She screamed and ran away. A little silence was restored.

...

"Good day, little girl."

"I am Althur, an investigator. I have an appointment with your brother, Peter. I was in the vicinity on some business, and I thought I would pay him a visit."

He gestured to introduce the pretty boy beside him: "This is Brahms; he is my younger brother and also my assistant."

"May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" His voice was a little hoarse and pleasant, different from the way he used to talk to Peter.

The girl hesitated, eyeing the two strangers warily. The slums were a dangerous place, and she had learned to be cautious of anyone who came knocking at her door.

She and her brother had stayed in this house because of the curse that protected them from harm.

"Polly," she said softly.

"What a charming name!" he said, smiling politely.

"May we come in, Polly? We have some important matters to discuss with Peter."

The girl heard his request, but she hesitated again as she looked at her room.

"But he's not here right now."

"Too bad. Can we wait?"

"Uhm. Fine," she agreed reluctantly.

It was a dark and shabby place, with hardly anything to sit on. There was only a bed with filthy sheets next to the fireplace and some broken furniture scattered around.

The two walked in, feeling a chill as they entered the gloomy house. They watched as the girl went to the corner of the room and tried to pull out two stools. Brahms opened his eyes as if he saw something interesting.

The little girl, who looked sharp with her dubious eyes, didn't panic when she brought strangers in. She seemed to notice Brahms or something similar.

She was clad in a faded linen dress, so dark and worn that it seemed to blend with the shadows. Her slender frame and pale complexion gave her the appearance of a wraith before.

Polly looked frail as she carried some chairs and courteously offered them to the two visitors.

He glanced around the room, noticing the flickering fireplace and the rumpled bed. The three headed to the warmest place in the house.

She sat wearily on the bed and gasped, "What's going on?"

"We went to find Peter. Actually, I had an appointment with him on Main Street, but for some reason I decided to come here."

"He's already gone to work. I don't know when he'll be back." Her voice was croaky and polite, a far cry from the vulgarity of the moment.

Althur looked at the child and assessed him carefully. The girl was only shorter than Brahms, but her innocence seemed to fade, gradually being filled with austerity.

An invisible heaviness in the air, probably felt by all three people present. But only this weak girl gets hurt every time she takes a breath.

"If we can, we'll wait."

"Aren't you afraid of being cursed?" She looked pale, but her eyes were still full of life.

"I don't. I knew what that curse really was."

"But still dangerous. It's no joke." She still warned. Looking at the boy by his side, he resembled a prince. Suddenly she panicked and trembled, her mind recalling the words of the gentleman before her. "I know what a curse really is." She repeated unconsciously.

"How?" Her voice trembled with suspicion.

"That's what I want to talk about with your brother." He smiled calmly.

She was sitting on the bed and cried, "Tell me, please. Don't lie to me." Polly, who seemed about to fall into the grave, begged him.

What was worse, she had to live in this life, in this country, at this time.

Althur's eyes were dull from darkness, feeling like everything around him was slowly killing him.