Chapter 3: The Gathering Storm
The air was electric as the evening drew near. A storm brewed in the distance, the sky darkening rapidly, mirroring the turmoil swirling in Nomvula’s mind. She and Thando sat in their mother’s house, the weight of Gogo Sibongile’s words pressing heavily on them.The small room felt even more cramped now, the walls closing in with every passing moment. Thando paced, his footsteps silent on the creaky floorboards. Nomvula, on the other hand, sat still, staring at her mother’s photograph. A wave of grief passed through her, mixed with fear. How could their mother have been involved in something like this? How deep did the darkness run?
“Nomvula,” Thando’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He stood near the window, peering out into the growing shadows. “If this ritual is real... do you think we can do it? Can we stop whatever this curse is?”
Nomvula stood, her legs stiff from sitting too long. “We have to try. Gogo Sibongile believes it’s the only way. If this village really is cursed, if it’s tied to us, we can’t just walk away. We’d be leaving everyone here to die.”
Thando looked at her, doubt flickering in his eyes. “But she said there would be a cost. What if—”
A sudden knock on the door cut him off. It was sharp, demanding. For a moment, neither of them moved. The knock came again, louder this time.
Nomvula stepped forward, heart racing. She opened the door to reveal a familiar figure standing in the dim light: Ayanda. Her best friend had arrived unannounced, wearing her typical city outfit—jeans and a jacket—completely out of place in the village.
“Ayanda!” Nomvula breathed, relief washing over her. “What are you doing here?”
Ayanda crossed her arms, her face stern but concerned. “I had a bad feeling after we last spoke. You didn’t sound right on the phone, so I came to check on you. And from the looks of it, I was right. What’s going on here?”
Nomvula opened her mouth, trying to explain the mess that had unfolded since her return, but the words tangled in her throat. How could she even begin to describe the darkness that was descending on their home?
Thando spoke instead, his voice steady but grim. “There’s something you need to know, Ayanda. Something dangerous. You shouldn’t have come.”
Ayanda raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Thando’s warning. “Dangerous? What, are we dealing with ghosts or something?” She laughed, but the nervous edge in her voice betrayed her.
“It’s worse than that,” Nomvula whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s witchcraft. And it’s real.”
For a moment, Ayanda stared at her, disbelief written all over her face. But she had known Nomvula long enough to recognize when her friend was serious. Slowly, her expression shifted from disbelief to cautious concern. “Alright, explain it to me.”
As they sat down, Nomvula quickly recounted everything—her mother’s sudden death, the strange atmosphere in the village, the disappearances, and Gogo Sibongile’s cryptic warning about the curse. Ayanda listened silently, her skepticism clear but her attention focused.
When Nomvula finished, Ayanda sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, I still don’t know if I buy all this, but I’ve never seen you this freaked out before. What’s the plan?”
“We need to perform a ritual,” Thando said. “Tonight. It’s the only way to stop the curse, according to Gogo Sibongile.”
Ayanda blinked, then burst out laughing. “A ritual? At night? This is starting to sound like a bad horror movie.”
Nomvula frowned. “Ayanda, please. This is serious. People are disappearing. My mother is dead. Something is happening here.”
Ayanda stopped laughing, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. I just... I didn’t expect this. But fine, if you’re going to do this, I’m not letting you go alone. I’ll help.”
Thando looked at her in surprise. “You’re staying?”
Ayanda smirked. “I don’t believe in curses, but I’m not leaving my best friend to deal with this crazy old lady by herself. If we’re doing a ritual, I’m in.”
Nomvula smiled, a small wave of relief washing over her. She was glad Ayanda was here, even if she didn’t fully believe. They were going to need all the help they could get.
As the storm clouds began to close in and night approached, the three of them gathered what they needed for the ritual: candles, herbs, and the strange symbols Gogo Sibongile had drawn for them on scraps of paper. The weight of the task ahead loomed over them, growing heavier with each passing moment.
Hours later, the moon hung high in the sky, its pale light barely visible behind thick storm clouds. The village was silent, the air oppressive with an unnatural stillness. Nomvula, Thando, and Ayanda made their way back to Gogo Sibongile’s hut, their footsteps muffled by the thick, dry dirt.
When they arrived, the old woman was already outside, waiting. Her eyes gleamed in the faint light, filled with an unspoken warning. “You are ready,” she said, her voice gravelly, though it was more a statement than a question.
The three nodded, though none of them truly felt ready. The sense of something watching them had grown stronger, like a presence lurking just beyond the edge of sight. Every shadow seemed alive, shifting, moving.
Gogo Sibongile motioned them inside, where the small fire still burned in the hearth. The room was filled with the thick scent of incense, the herbs smoldering in a clay bowl on the floor. Symbols, drawn in ash, circled the room.
Nomvula stepped forward, her heart racing. “What do we do?”
The old woman looked at her, her eyes piercing through the smoke. “Tonight, you will summon the spirits of your ancestors. They will show you the truth of the curse. But be warned, Nomvula: the darkness that clings to this village is not easily undone. It has taken root, and it will fight back.”
Thando swallowed hard. “What happens if we fail?”
Gogo Sibongile’s gaze darkened. “Then the curse will claim more than just this village. It will spread, and it will consume you.”
The air in the room felt suffocating, thick with tension and the weight of something ancient, something malevolent. The storm outside began to rumble, lightning flashing briefly, illuminating Gogo’s face in harsh, ghostly light.
“Now,” the old woman said, her voice low and filled with foreboding. “The ritual begins.”
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wonderful innit
Posted on November 11, 2024, 2:03 pm