Act I: Ali's Isolation and Haunting Discovery
Ali Ray knew the weight of the curse better than anyone. Years had passed since she lost her family, but the trauma clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake. She'd watched the footage from her old home hundreds of times, reliving the night Katie came for her father and baby brother, her hands stained by some unknowable darkness. No one else could see what she saw. No one else could understand that the evil was still out there, biding its time, watching her from beyond the veil.
Since Jesse's disappearance, she'd become more reclusive, distancing herself from friends and family. Her world narrowed to the four walls of her apartment, to dimly lit corners and the hum of her laptop screen. Her days turned into a relentless search for answers. She dug into reports about Jesse, a boy who had lived miles away yet shared the curse—a mark that seemed to bind their fates.
News reports on gang violence in Carlsbad now filled her screen every night. The names of those gang members were repeated in headlines with words like "brutal," "unexplained," "suspicious." Each story seemed to connect somehow to Anna's cursed coven. She couldn't help but think the gang's markings had worsened everything, their reckless curiosity spreading the curse further, like a virus infecting anyone who got too close. Ali fixated on each detail, feeling as if understanding it would bring her closer to a truth just out of reach.
One evening, she was staring into her computer, her mind caught between memories of her family and the grainy news footage when she felt it: a subtle shift in the room's energy. Her stomach tightened, her eyes flicking to the corner of her bedroom, where shadows seemed darker than usual. She squinted, trying to convince herself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, icy fingers brushing over her spine.
As she turned back to the computer, her cursor hovered over a news video about another unexplained death in the gang. The screen flickered, just for a second, and Ali's breath caught as an image of her aunt Katie appeared, staring back at her with eyes that seemed hollow and inhuman. The image vanished, replaced by the news broadcast. Had she really seen Katie? Or was it just her mind playing tricks?
Her fingers trembled as she pressed "pause," the screen now stuck on a gang member's mugshot. He was young, with a fresh scar across his cheek and eyes that spoke of hardened nights on the streets. Something about his face felt wrong, twisted—as though he, too, were carrying the mark.
Ali's chest tightened with guilt and fear. The urge to close the laptop and look away gnawed at her, but she couldn't. Instead, she dove deeper, finding articles, personal blogs, anything she could on the gang members. Her heart raced as she unearthed more unsettling details—ritual symbols etched into their skin, friends found dead or gone missing, and whispers of strange happenings that couldn't be explained.
Her mind spiraled with possibilities. She needed to find out more about the mark, about why it clung to her life and the lives of those around her. She glanced around her dim room, as if the answer could be hiding in the shadows. Her gaze fell back to the screen, and she whispered aloud, almost defiantly, "I'm going to find you, Jesse. I'm going to figure this out."
In the silence that followed, the shadows around her seemed to pulse, as if they'd heard her vow.
Ali's nights had become endless cycles of dread and insomnia, haunted by visions and an unshakable sense of someone—something—watching her. It was during one of these late-night dives into online forums and articles that she found the footage.
The file was buried in a folder on a barely accessible forum, labeled only with numbers and strange symbols that didn't make sense at first. With a few clicks, she was staring at grainy, poorly lit footage, her heart pounding. Ali hesitated, her finger hovering over the play button. What would she find? She took a steadying breath and pressed it.
The video was shot from a shaky handheld camera, capturing what seemed like a dilapidated room lit only by flickering candles. In the footage, a woman moved in and out of the frame, her face partially obscured by shadows. Ali's breath caught—she recognized the woman. It was Anna, the witch who had haunted Jesse's life and now, it seemed, was haunting her own.
Anna's hands moved methodically, drawing intricate symbols on the backs, arms, and necks of people who sat in silence, one after another. Some had the tough, cold exteriors of hardened gang members, but their expressions were blank, almost resigned. It was as if they knew they were crossing a line they couldn't uncross.
Ali watched as Anna marked one gang member in particular—a young man with tattoos peeking out from under his torn shirt. Anna traced a dark symbol on his neck, and he seemed to flinch. For a moment, he looked directly at the camera, his face a mixture of fear and defiance. In the dim light, Ali could make out the shape of the mark: a twisted combination of spirals and slashes that looked almost alive.
The footage flickered, and Anna began speaking in a language Ali didn't recognize, her voice low and rhythmic. The symbols drawn on each person started to emit a faint, eerie glow. Ali shuddered as she realized the symbols weren't just marks—they were conduits, channels through which something dark and ancient was being invited.
Suddenly, the camera cut to another scene. The same gang members were huddled around a black mirror, eyes glazed as they stared into it, entranced. One by one, they placed their hands on the mirror, as though making a pact. Ali watched, horrified, as their reflections warped and twisted, taking on monstrous features.
The video cut again, this time showing the marked gang members in various states of delirium. They seemed haunted, staring into empty spaces, muttering to themselves or lashing out at shadows. In one particularly chilling scene, one of them scratched at his neck where the mark had been drawn, his fingers digging into his skin until blood dripped down his collar. His gaze snapped toward the camera with empty, blackened eyes, and he whispered a single word: "Bruja."
The footage ended abruptly, leaving Ali in silence, the echoes of that single word lingering in her mind. She felt a cold sweat break across her skin, her pulse racing. She could feel the truth clawing its way into her mind: those symbols weren't just for show—they were a curse, an invitation to something much darker. And the gang members, marked and broken, were pawns in a game orchestrated by forces beyond her understanding.
It was then that she noticed the strange tingling on the back of her own neck, as if something unseen were brushing against her skin. She stumbled to her feet and checked the mirror, her heart pounding. The skin was clear—no marks, no symbols. But she felt their presence all the same, an invisible chain tightening around her.
Ali took a shaky breath, her mind racing. She knew now that this entity, whatever it was, had grown stronger with each marked person. And if she was right, if these marks were connected to Jesse, then there was only one way this could end.
Determined, she backed away from the mirror, clutching her phone. Her hand was shaking, but she knew what she had to do. She would track down any remaining gang members who were marked. She would find out why they'd agreed to be pawns in Anna's game—and, more urgently, she would figure out how to sever her own connection to this curse.
As she moved to close her laptop, the screen flickered once more. An image appeared—her aunt Katie's hollow, pitiless eyes, staring straight at her from beyond the grave. Her lips parted, mouthing words that Ali couldn't hear, yet felt with chilling clarity. Run while you can.
The image vanished, and Ali sat there, shaken to her core. She knew she couldn't run, not now. Not when she was this close. Whatever fate awaited her, she was in too deep to turn back.
Luis slammed the box down on the table, his hands shaking. Around him, the other guys were silent, their eyes wide, waiting for him to speak.
"Listen," he started, swallowing down the lump in his throat, "whatever this shit is, it's real, alright? Bruja, maldito—whatever you wanna call it, it's here, entendés? We got symbols, curses, andamos marcados!"
He grabbed one of the photos of the marked women and tossed it onto the table. "This," he pointed, voice low, "is what Anna was into. I don't know what kind of dark mierda she messed with, but it's all over us now."
The others shifted uneasily. Juan, still unnerved after that mirror incident, shook his head, rubbing his temple. "Nah, man. You serious? You think this is real? You been hittin' that tequila a little too hard, amigo. This is all just cuentos, man!"
Luis cut him off, eyes blazing. "Hijo de puta, you saw it too, don't play dumb! Those marks? That voice calling 'Bruja'? It's real, bro. We ain't making this shit up." He banged the table, rattling the box. "Think back, ese! Jesse, all that weird shit? This is real, man."
There was silence, the kind that crept over you like a heavy shadow. A few of the younger guys shifted in their seats, nervously glancing at each other, but no one dared to speak up. They'd all grown up hearing stories of the supernatural, dark cosas nobody messed with. But now, those stories felt like they were bleeding into reality.
One of the younger guys, Ricky, spoke up, his voice low. "So, what's the plan, jefe? We just wait for this bruja to pick us off one by one?"
Luis looked at him, his jaw clenched. "Nah, we're not waiting for ni madres. We find out where this started. That means checking every spot Anna touched, anything tied to her crew, all of it. La cosa es, every one of us has to be ready for whatever this brings. No one backs out, no one chickens out, or you'll be the next fool she marks."
Juan spit on the ground, his face twisted. "Yeah, we find this bruja and put an end to this before it ends us. You got that, pendejos?"
The group murmured, reluctantly nodding as they started piecing together their plan. Their voices turned to whispers, half in Spanish, half in English, a mix of curses and promises. They were used to the streets, to fighting other crews, to handling business. But this was something else, something darker, and every one of them knew it.
Luis clenched his fist. "Vamos, then. We go to Anna's spot. Grab whatever you need. And remember—no estamos jugando aquí." He looked around, each of his men staring back with grim determination. They were all in, but the question was whether they'd make it out.
As they headed out, one of them muttered, "Que Dios nos proteja." But they all knew this was far beyond prayers.
They rolled up to Anna's rundown apartment complex in a beat-up van, the place looking even creepier in the dead of night. A flickering streetlight cast long, jagged shadows on the cracked pavement. Luis led the way, his eyes sharp, scanning every inch of the place as they moved closer. He wasn't sure what they were about to find, but he wasn't about to let this bruja nonsense mess with his head.
Inside, the place smelled like mildew and something sour, like stale incense mixed with rotting food. Shadows stretched along the walls, shapes twisting in the darkness. Luis motioned for the guys to fan out, checking the rooms one by one. Juan grabbed an old wooden baseball bat from his duffle and smirked, swinging it around like he was ready for anything.
"Yo, Holmes," Ricky called, smirking as he nudged open a closet door with his boot. "You think Sherlock would approve of this little field trip?"
Luis shot him a look. "Holmes? What, you think we're solving mysteries here, Ricky? Or you wanna play detective with a bruja?"
Ricky shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just saying, man. If we're dealing with a ghost and we end up like that dude in Ghostbusters, you better be ready."
Juan rolled his eyes, pointing the bat at him. "Yeah, 'cause eso—" he nodded toward the blackened, weird symbols smeared on the walls "—is real Ghostbusters shit. Keep talking like that, pendejo, and see who's laughing when your ass gets cursed next."
Luis snorted. "Shut up and look for anything that's not supposed to be here. Anna wasn't doing yoga in here; she was marking people. Find the stuff that says so."
The guys rummaged through the mess, kicking up dust, tossing aside broken bottles, papers, and unlit candles. They were searching for any sign of a ritual, anything that could give them answers about the curse hanging over them.
Suddenly, Julio pulled out a leather-bound book, its cover stamped with symbols that didn't look like anything he'd seen before. He held it up, shaking his head, looking spooked. "Oye, I found something. This look like a regular diario to you?"
Luis snatched it from him, thumbing through brittle, yellowed pages filled with strange symbols, diagrams of bodies, and what looked like spells. A lot of it was in Latin, some in Spanish. At the back of the book were names—dozens of names, each one written in a scratchy, uneven hand. His gut twisted when he saw a familiar name scrawled near the end.
"Jesse."
Luis's voice was a low whisper, but the room went silent as they all crowded around him to look. Sure enough, Jesse's name was there, and a few others they recognized, marked with a symbol that looked like an upside-down triangle with a line slashed through it.
Ricky sucked in a breath. "Man, this is messed up. You see those names? She marked us like… like we're just part of some twisted plan."
Before Luis could respond, a loud creak echoed from the back room. They all froze, exchanging looks. Juan raised the bat, nodding to Luis, who moved toward the noise, his steps slow, cautious. The door was half open, and a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, vanishing as he got closer.
He pushed the door open, only to find a shrine covered with half-burned candles, skulls, and more symbols scratched into the walls. A mirror leaned against the wall, cracked, and in the dim light, they saw it—another symbol, smeared in something dark and dried.
Ricky, trying to lighten the mood, muttered, "Yeah, Holmes would definitely be done with this shit."
But no one laughed.
Ali dialed Martine's number with a shaky hand, staring out her apartment window into the dark, empty street below. She hadn't spoken to Martine in years, but right now, she couldn't think of anyone else who might know what to do. After a few rings, a gruff voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Martine? It's… it's Ali. I don't know if you remember me—"
"Of course I remember, mija." Martine's voice softened with recognition but quickly turned serious. "Why are you calling me?"
Ali exhaled, closing her eyes. "Things… things are happening again. I can't shake it. It's like there's something here, around me, and these—these people keep showing up. People I don't even know are… marked. And I think it's because of me."
There was a pause on the other end, and then Martine's tone dropped, colder, more urgent. "Mija, listen to me. If you've felt the curse in your life again, it means something was never finished. Something has held onto you… maybe from Katie, maybe even from that night when we tried to protect your family. But you need to stay away from this."
Ali felt a surge of frustration. "How can I just ignore it? The gang… these people… they're marked like Jesse was. I found out Anna marked them with these symbols and rituals. They're being possessed, just like—"
"Stop." Martine's voice was sharp. "Ay, Dios. This isn't something you understand. These symbols… they're not just marks, Ali. They're invitations. Each time you dig into this curse, each time you go looking for answers, you're calling something to you. And that something doesn't care if you're innocent. You're marked, too, Ali."
Her words hung in the air, sending a chill down Ali's spine. She tightened her grip on the phone, feeling as though her apartment walls were closing in. "So, what am I supposed to do? Pretend nothing's happening while I watch people around me fall apart?"
Martine's sigh came through the phone, heavy and weary. "Mija, your family's curse wasn't just about them. It's ancient, dark, and it reaches further than we ever knew. If you want to survive, you need to stop. You need to stay away from the gang, away from that apartment, and for God's sake, don't go looking for Katie. She is no longer your aunt; she's… a vessel, a part of this darkness."
Ali's heart thudded in her chest. "And if I don't?"
"Then be ready," Martine warned, her voice deadly serious. "Be ready for whatever you let in. Because once you're marked, it doesn't just haunt you. It devours everything around you—friends, family, even strangers. And once it takes you… there's no getting out."
The line clicked off, leaving Ali alone in the dark. The silence felt charged, as though Martine's words had left something lingering in the room with her.
Ali set the phone down, Martine's warning echoing in her head like a death knell. The room felt colder, like something was pressing down on her. Her gaze flicked to the window, to the reflections in the glass. Shadows loomed at the edges, just outside her vision.
That night, she tossed and turned, images of symbols and shadows twisting into nightmares. She dreamt of Katie, standing in front of her with dead eyes, marking Ali's forehead with cold, wet fingers, murmuring something in a language she couldn't understand. She jolted awake, heart pounding, and instinctively checked her forehead, relieved to find nothing there.
But there was no escaping it. The more she ignored Martine's advice, the worse it got. Every time she flipped on her phone, articles about strange deaths or animal sacrifices popped up, almost like they were directed at her.
The next day, Ali decided she needed to know more. She couldn't just let this gang of strangers, who had no idea what they were dealing with, get torn apart because of something they didn't understand. Martine's words rang in her head, but she pushed them aside, grabbed her backpack, and headed out to the only place she thought she might find answers: Anna's old apartment. She knew the gang had been there recently—word was spreading that they'd found some disturbing things. She needed to see it for herself.
When she arrived, she saw the gang already there, a few of them loitering around the entrance, looking wary and ready for anything. They were young, rough around the edges, and she could feel the tension in the air. They were on edge.
One of the guys, a lanky kid with a hoodie and a heavy scowl, spotted her.
"Hey, bruja," he sneered, eyeing her up and down. "What're you doing here? You lost or something?"
Ali steeled herself. "No. I need to see what you found here. You don't know what you're dealing with."
He laughed, a hollow sound. "Yeah? You think we're amateurs?" He tilted his head, mockingly. "What are you, some kind of… Sherlock Holmes for the paranormal?"
A few of the guys snickered, but another one, older with tattoos snaking up his neck, stepped forward, silencing them with a look. "Watch it, man. This chica might actually know what's going on. You don't see her runnin' from this place."
She took a step forward, her voice steady. "You don't get it. Whatever happened to Jesse—whatever marked him, it's marking you too. If you keep messing around in there, you're just inviting it to get closer."
The older guy scoffed, but there was a hint of something in his eyes—fear, or maybe understanding. "Yeah? And what's it gonna do? Jump out from the walls?" He crossed his arms, challenging her. "Listen, we don't scare easy. If it's got something to say, let it show itself."
One of the younger guys muttered, "Bro, maybe we should listen. This place gives me the creeps."
The older guy smacked the back of his head. "Cálmate. We're fine. Ain't nobody messin' with us."
But as if to mock his bravado, a sudden gust of cold air swept through the hall. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows across the cracked walls. Everyone went silent, glancing nervously at each other. The younger guy whispered, "Maybe we ain't as fine as you think, hermano."
Ali took a deep breath, stepping past them. "You can stay out here if you're scared. But I need to see whatever you found."
As Ali pushed past the group toward the cracked, grimy door, one of the gang members reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. His grip was firm, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Wait, hold up. How the hell do you know about Jesse?" His tone was sharp, demanding answers. The other gang members leaned in, their skepticism morphing into a mix of curiosity and distrust.
Ali turned to face him, her gaze steady. "Because I've seen what he went through. I was connected to it long before any of you." She paused, searching for words that would make sense. "We're both tied to this… this curse. This thing that marked him, it nearly destroyed my family. I barely survived it."
The older guy, the one with the tattoos, let out a low chuckle, skeptical but intrigued. "Oh, yeah? So what, you're saying this curse jumps around like it's got some kinda GPS on it? Finds people wherever they go?"
Ali nodded, unflinching. "That's exactly what I'm saying. It doesn't let go. It doesn't stop. And if you're marked, it's only a matter of time before it gets what it wants."
They exchanged glances, unease passing between them. The youngest, the one who looked the most spooked, asked, "So, what does it want then? Why us?"
Ali let out a sigh, the weight of her past pressing down on her. "It feeds on fear, on blood, on death. But it's not random. Jesse was just the beginning. He was marked for a reason, and now it's spreading to everyone he touched… including your crew."
The tattooed guy muttered a curse under his breath, glancing at his friends. "Damn, Holmes. You think it's got something to do with Anna's place here? Or maybe that Funhouse spot you keep talkin' about?"
One of the guys shot back, sarcastic. "You really think this chick's got all the answers, or is she just tryin' to freak us out, get us to bounce?"
Ali met his gaze, unwavering. "If you don't believe me, then leave. But if you stay, you better know what you're dealing with, because this won't end well for any of you."
The gang members shifted, their tough demeanor beginning to falter. One of them muttered, almost to himself, "I don't wanna end up like Jesse, man. If what she's saying is real…"
The tattooed guy cut him off. "Look, we've been through worse. So either we all man up, or we bounce and let her handle it."
Ali gave a grim nod, then turned back to the door, half-expecting them to scatter. But they held their ground, eyes dark with something between fear and defiance. The tattooed guy finally relented, muttering, "Alright, Sherlock. Lead the way."