[Author's Note: If you are a Marine Biologist, you are going to hate me by the end of this story. Every underwater creature is treated with human anatomy with a face, two hands, two legs, a torso, etc. If you can accept this break from reality, I hope you enjoy the tale.]

Cursed

Where to begin, where to begin… Ah, yes. Ahem:

The tale begins in the days of fairy tales. You know the era: the one with castles and princesses and gypsies and knights in shining armor and evil, beautiful sorceresses that commit genocide because they were snubbed at a party.

In one such magical kingdom (because every kingdom in those days was magical, didn't you know?) there lived the Witch. She was alternately a crooked old hag with a wart on her nose or a slender, ravishing young woman with high cheekbones, depending on her mood, the weather, and whether or not the Simpsons was showing signs of improvement.

But she was not just any witch; she was the Witch. She was a dark, selfish, malicious spirit that could never die. Whenever her body was poisoned via apple, or was stabbed by a prince, or had a giant sailboat rammed into it while she was a 300-foot tall octopus, her spirit would simply vacate the body and take a new young woman as a host.

In such a way she lived and wrought havoc for thousands of years. The kingdom in which she had taken up residence – the Barnacle Kingdom – knew resistance was futile. They pampered the Witch; they gave her a palace greater than that of the king's and catered to her every capricious whim. In exchange, she gave them the greatest gift she had ever given anyone: she did not slaughter their children, burn their crops, or rape their cattle.

But her luxurious surroundings made her lazy. She slowly grew bored with cruel little spells and tricks; as a result, over the next few generations the population stopped fearing her. Her palace became overgrown with weeds, nematodes, and Jar Jar Binks. Finally, the new Barnacle King grew tired of the exorbitant expense that was her upkeep. He did not want to waste money on her servants when he could spend it on more useful things, like TiVo.

And then, on one fateful day, the Barnacle King's first child was born: a healthy baby boy.

The Barnacle Queen admired her baby with loving eyes. She said to her husband, "One day, our son will be king. He deserves a nation of prosperity, wealth, and power – yet our every cent goes to that vile woman! We cannot allow her to continue draining us dry. For the kingdom – no, for the prince, we must abandon the Witch."

After a long moment of contemplation, the Barnacle King agreed. He ordered the payments to the Witch to cease immediately, and sent an army of ten thousand soldiers to kill her. They surrounded the ruins of the palace. A few of them wondered aloud whether she was there at all, or just a legend.

The Witch sat in her study in one of the towers, looking out the window at the army far below with a slanted grin on her face. Finally, she thought. Some fun. She flew down the stairs, the great mahogany front doors exploded outward on their hinges, and the Witch sliced through the army like Stephen Colbert through a republican candidate. She could have simply cut a straight path and gone on her way, but she hadn't had this much fun in years. Not a single soldier was left alive.

Her pact of peace with the Barnacle Kingdom now broken, she strutted to the king's castle. The archers fired a hail of arrows at her as she approached, but they curled with flame and crumbled into ash. The stone doors burst inward. The Witch strode toward the King and Queen's throne with her head held high. The King stood to face her as Queen held her newborn son tightly to her chest behind him.

The Witch threw her head back and laughed. "Why, hello again, Your Grace, long time no see. Now, I bet you're wondering why I'm here." With a twist of her wrist, she conjured up a golden chalice of wine. She took a sip. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, so let's get right to it, shall we? Quite simply, Your Grace," she smirked, "I came to thank you."

The King and Queen shared an awed glance.

"Now, now, don't look so amazed. I'm telling the truth. You see…" She took another sip from the chalice as she collected her thoughts. "I'm afraid I've become dreadfully lazy over the years. Disgraceful, really, shameful of me. For the longest time I've been bored. Bored with little tricks and little riddles and little people and exploiting little miseries, all out of fear of breaking my contract with you.

"But now – now! Now I remember why I am the Witch in the first place, now I recall the scent of blood and the coursing of magic through my veins!" Her voice grew steadily louder and her eyes began to glow. "Now I want to do something big, something very big with some big people and big problems and MONSTROUS miseries!"

The Witch walked right up to the king. She grabbed his chin as she said, "But as I said before… thank you. As my thank you, I bestow upon you this gift: twenty years." She stepped down from the throne. "As a thank you, I will not kill you now: instead, death will fall in twenty years." She smiled. "But not only you, Your Grace. But also you," she pointed to the Queen, "and your son, and ALL OF YOU!"

She snapped her fingers, and the baby prince flew out of his mother's arms toward the Witch.

The Queen shrieked, "No!" She grabbed her husband's sword and ran at the sorceress, but when the blade touched the Witch it dissolved into smoke.

The Witch pinched the Queen's cheek. "Silly girl." She patted the Queen's head. "Run along, now. The grown-ups are talking." With tears of hate in her eyes, the Queen stepped back to the throne.

The Witch's face contorted into a mask of loathing. She pointed right at the king and shouted, "YOU BROKE YOUR DEAL, COWARD!" The baby prince hovered in the air in front of her. "AND I AM NOT KIND WITH THOSE WHO BREAK A DEAL!" The chalice shattered in her hand.

Ghost-like tendrils of smoke twirled around the Witch like gathering storm clouds. "I will let you live for now, but the penalty for breaking a deal is…" A horrible smile stretched across her face. "Severe."

She raised her hands and began chanting. The baby prince floated into the air at the nexus of the swirling cloud of smoke and crackling lightning. "I CURSE YOU! With every drop of magic in my veins, I CURSE YOU!" The baby started crying, but his wails could barely be heard over the roar of the storm. "May you be vile! May you be wicked! May your body be hideous and twisted! May you have the face of a monster, that scares little children and sickens all those who look upon you! And finally…" The Witch cackled with joy. "MAY YOU BE THE BEARER OF DEATH TO ALL! To those you love, to your dearest companions, to your family, and to every single living creature in this world! IN TWENTY YEARS, EVERYONE! WILL! DIIIIEEEE!"

The baby screamed – the smoke span faster and faster until it finally collapsed inward onto the prince. He fell through the air and landed on the stone floor with a light thud.

The Witch knelt down, and stroked the face of the boy, pleased with her handiwork. She looked up at the King and Queen. "Except for me, of course." With a flash of light, she disappeared.

[***]

As would be expected, the baby barnacle was horribly, horrendously disfigured. The King and Queen themselves found it difficult to look at him. They labored with indecision over what to do with the cursed child.

Finally, the King was forced to come to the terrible conclusion: in order to prevent the prophecy from taking place and heralding the end of the world, the ugly barnacle must be killed.

Hating himself, he handed the child over to one of his guardsmen, with instructions to kill the boy. The guard took the boy out of the castle, out of the village, out of the kingdom, and finally wound through the narrow footpaths of the far-away Black Coral Forest. He paid no heed to direction; he only stopped when he was irrevocably lost in the woods.

Finally, in the middle of the coral forest, he came to a deep, cold, black, crooked stone well. He gathered multiple stones and tied them to the newborn barnacle's blanket. Thusly weighted down, he held the bundle over the edge of the well - and let go. The ugly barnacle fell… fell… fell… then finally struck the surface of the well water and sank to the bottom.

The guard, however, had failed to take into account the fact they were already living underwater, and therefore the baby barnacle could not drown. Oh, well. The guard was a starfish, and you know how those folk are. He returned to the kingdom and informed the King of his son's demise.

The Queen never forgave him and they slowly drifted apart, but that is a tale for another day. Our story focuses on the poor child: cold, alone, and afraid, crying at the bottom of a well, with nothing around to comfort him, save for the arc of the sky…