The Haunting Curse of Princess Abena

The smell of burnt flesh still haunts me. Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and see the flames licking at the thatched roof of the hut, hear the screams of the villagers, and feel the heat on my skin. It all started with Princess Abena.

I was just a boy then, barely ten years old. My father was the village elder, and I often followed him around, helping where I could. Our village was small but full of life. We had our share of hardships, but we always managed to come together as a community. That all changed when Princess Abena came to visit.

Abena was the only child of the King. She was known for her beauty, but there was something about her that made people uneasy. Her eyes, which should have been warm and inviting, were cold and calculating. Her smile never reached those eyes, and when she laughed, it sent shivers down your spine.

The day she arrived, the whole village was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t every day that royalty visited us. The women hurried to prepare the best food, and the men made sure everything was in order. But I felt something different. I felt a sense of dread that I couldn’t explain.

Abena arrived with a small group of guards. They looked stern and serious, not at all like the friendly soldiers we were used to seeing. The villagers gathered to greet her, bowing and showing their respect. Abena walked through the village, her eyes taking in everything. She stopped at the market where the women were selling their goods.

She picked up a basket of mangoes, her fingers brushing against the fruit. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the basket to the ground. The mangoes scattered, bruised and broken. The women gasped, their faces a mix of anger and fear. Abena didn’t even look back. She just kept walking, a small smile playing on her lips.

That night, the village was hit by a strange sickness. People woke up with fever, their bodies aching, their minds clouded. My father, usually so strong and steady, was now weak and delirious. He lay in bed, his eyes wide with fear, muttering about a curse.

The villagers were desperate. They turned to the village witch doctor, a wise old woman named Nana. Nana examined the sick, her face serious, and then she spoke. “The princess has cursed us,” she said, her voice low. “She is jealous of our happiness, our prosperity. She wants to see us suffer.”

The villagers were horrified. They had always believed that the princess was a kind ruler, but now, they had to face the truth. Nana told us that the only way to break the curse was to offer a sacrifice. We had to find a young, innocent soul, someone who had never done any wrong, and offer them to the spirits.

The villagers were torn. They didn’t want to sacrifice anyone, but they were desperate. They looked at each other, their faces filled with fear and despair. Finally, they decided to draw lots. The name that was drawn was that of a young girl named Afi, known for her kindness and gentle spirit.

Afi was only eight years old, but she understood what was happening. She looked at her parents, her eyes filled with tears, and then she turned to the villagers. “I will do it,” she said, her voice small but firm. “I will sacrifice myself to save the village.”

The villagers were heartbroken, but they knew that Afi was right. They couldn’t let the curse destroy their village. Nana led Afi to the sacred grove, a place where the spirits were said to dwell. She placed a small, wooden doll on the ground, a doll that represented Afi’s spirit. Then, she lit a fire, the flames licking at the doll, consuming it.

As the doll burned, the villagers prayed, their voices filled with sorrow and hope. They prayed that the spirits would accept the sacrifice and lift the curse. And then, something strange happened. The flames of the fire began to rise, higher and higher, until they reached the sky. The smoke from the fire swirled and twisted, forming the shape of a woman with ebony skin, golden eyes, and a cruel smile.

It was Abena.

She looked down at the villagers, her eyes filled with malice. “You think you can appease the spirits with a mere child?” she sneered. “You think you can escape my wrath?”

The villagers cowered, their faces filled with terror. They had never seen the princess like this, so full of rage and hatred. Abena raised her hand, and a bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips, striking the ground near the villagers. The earth trembled, and the trees around them swayed violently.

“I will not be defied,” she roared. “I will have my revenge.”

The villagers, realizing that they had made a terrible mistake, fled in terror. They ran through the forest, their hearts pounding in their chests, their lungs burning. I was among them, running as fast as my legs could carry me. I could hear Abena’s laughter echoing behind me, a sound that chilled me to the bone.

We ran until we reached the edge of the forest, where the village was located. But when we arrived, we were met with a sight that made our blood run cold. The village was in flames. The huts were burning, the smoke billowing into the sky. The villagers who had stayed behind were trapped, their screams echoing through the night.

Abena stood in the middle of the burning village, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She had unleashed her wrath, and now, the village was paying the price. I watched in horror as the flames consumed the village, my heart filled with grief and anger. I had seen the darkness in Abena’s heart, and now, I had seen the full extent of her cruelty.

The villagers who had escaped the fire gathered together, their faces etched with sorrow and despair. They had lost their homes, their families, their entire way of life. But they had also lost something else. They had lost their faith in the princess, their faith in the royal family. They had learned that even the most beautiful people can harbor the darkest of secrets.

And I, the boy who had witnessed the princess’s wrath, was forever changed. I would never forget the smell of burnt flesh, the screams of the villagers, the laughter of the princess. I would never forget the day that Abena, the princess, became a monster.

Years later, the village was rebuilt, but the scars of that night remained. The villagers never forgot the princess’s cruelty, and they never trusted the royal family again. And I, the boy who had witnessed the princess’s wrath, grew up to be a man, a man who knew the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of beauty. I knew that even the most beautiful people can be monsters, and I would never forget the lesson I had learned that night.

The smell of burnt flesh still haunts me. Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and see the flames licking at the thatched roof of the hut, hear the screams of the villagers, and feel the heat on my skin. It all started with Princess Abena. And it will never end.