Threads Cursed Tapestry

Unable to shake the dream, Sophia returned to the parlor the next morning. The tapestry seemed different, though she couldn’t pinpoint how. The golden threads appeared more vibrant, the faceless figures more defined. Determined to uncover its origin, she began searching through Eleanor’s belongings.

Sophia rummaged through trunks lined with faded velvet and shelves sagging under the weight of forgotten heirlooms. She found tarnished silverware, brittle photographs of somber faces, and a stack of pressed flowers between the pages of an old family Bible. Each item seemed steeped in a history that whispered of secrets long buried. Beneath a pile of moth-eaten quilts, she unearthed a wooden box carved with intricate patterns. Inside was a collection of letters, their ink faded but still legible, detailing Eleanor’s travels to remote villages and her fascination with ancient artifacts. One letter described a "tapestry of unspeakable beauty and mystery" obtained from a recluse who warned it was not meant for human eyes.

Among these relics, Sophia found a journal belonging to her great-aunt. The entries were erratic, filled with fragmented thoughts about the tapestry. One entry stood out:

"The tapestry is a gateway. It feeds on the watcher’s essence, weaving their soul into its threads. I’ve resisted its pull for decades, but I fear my time is near. Whoever finds this, destroy it before it’s too late."

Sophia’s hands trembled as she closed the journal. The whispers she had dismissed as her imagination now seemed far too real. She resolved to burn the tapestry that night.

As the sun set, Sophia gathered matches and lighter fluid. Standing before the tapestry, she hesitated. The golden threads seemed to writhe under her gaze, as if anticipating her actions. Summoning her courage, she doused the fabric with the fluid and struck a match. The moment the flame touched the tapestry, a deafening scream filled the room, and the fire extinguished itself instantly.

Sophia staggered back, clutching her ears. The tapestry was unscathed, but the figures within it were now staring directly at her, their once-blank faces twisted in anger. A cold wind swept through the room, and the whispers grew louder, forming words.

"You cannot escape."

The room began to warp around her. The walls stretched and twisted, the air thick with the stench of decay. Sophia’s vision blurred, and when it cleared, she was no longer in the parlor. She stood in the village from her dreams.

The figures surrounded her, their movements synchronized and unnatural. Sophia tried to run, but the ground beneath her turned to soft, clawing vines that pulled her back. A voice echoed in her mind, deep and ancient.

"You have become part of the weave."

Sophia’s body felt heavy, her limbs unresponsive. The golden threads from the tapestry began to snake around her, binding her tightly. She screamed, but no sound escaped her lips. As the threads enveloped her, she felt her essence being pulled away, strand by strand, until darkness consumed her.

When Sophia’s friend Clara arrived at the mansion a week later, concerned by her lack of communication, she found the place eerily quiet. The parlor drew her attention, where the tapestry hung prominently on the wall. It seemed brighter than ever, its golden threads gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Clara stepped closer, her eyes widening as she noticed a new figure woven into the scene. It was a young woman with terror etched across her face.

Unaware of the danger, Clara reached out to touch the tapestry. The threads felt warm, almost alive, and in the silence of the room, she thought she heard whispers.