THE GUILD OF THE CURSED

(Title created by Reedsy Title Generator)

"Welcome to the Guild!"

The words gleamed in golden letters across the wooden box Jack found in the hidden compartment of the desk. Dust caked every surface, and the air was thick with the scent of old paper, mildew, and danger. But the box - its polished wood unblemished by time - looked like it had been placed there just minutes ago.

(Thin beams of moonlight filtered through grimy windows revealed dust motes spiraling lazily through the darkness. The thick scent of disuse - an earthy, musty odor - clung to every corner.)

Jack and Miles crept through the ruined manor, their flashlights cutting through the gloom. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and an unnerving portrait of a man with too-real eyes lined the walls.

(Their breathing grew shallow as the corridor stretched ahead, each echo of their footsteps suggesting more empty space than the walls appeared to hold. The portrait's eyes almost gleamed, fixed in a perpetual stare of silent warning.)

"Jack, check the study," Miles said, pointing to a door on the right. "Rich people hide valuables in drawers and behind paintings."

(His voice resonated in the stillness, stirring the dust into agitated swirls. The flicker of the flashlight highlighted the chipped paint on the door and the tarnished brass of its handle.)

Jack grumbled but obeyed, stepping over a collapsed bookshelf and rifling through an old desk. His fingers brushed against something hard beneath a false panel. He pried it loose and pulled out a wooden box, its golden inscription practically glowing in the dim light. No lock. No gold. No treasures. Just letters. Old, yellowed parchment, tied with twine. "I found some letters!" Jack called out, his voice echoing.

(The flutter of old parchment made a delicate rasp, like ancient wings brushing together. A sudden draft set a hidden spiderweb dancing in the corner, the threads catching the faint beam of Jack's flashlight.)

Miles groaned. "Unless those letters spell out a combination to a safe full of gold, I don't care!"

(His words reverberated around the silent study, eventually swallowed by the house's hush. A faint creaking sound resonated from the hallway, as though the building was shifting its weight.)

Jack ignored him, untied the twine, and started reading aloud.

Letter 1

To: The Esteemed High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

From: Leonard "Lucky" Fitzpatrick

Subject: Urgent Inquiry Regarding Membership Policies

Dear Esteemed High Council,

I am writing with the utmost urgency regarding what I can only assume is a clerical error of the highest magnitude: my enrollment in the Guild of the Cursed. While I hold the Guild in the highest regard and respect its mission of providing support and community for those suffering from supernatural afflictions, I must state unequivocally that I do not belong here.

To put it plainly, I am not cursed.

My life has been riddled with inexplicable, improbable, and often spectacularly unfortunate events. However, misfortune alone does not constitute a curse. It has come to my attention that my registration was likely the result of a tragic misunderstanding - specifically, the moniker "Lucky," which I assure you is entirely ironic and in no way an indicator of magical misalignment.

For clarity, allow me to present my case:

1. I have painstakingly reviewed the Guild's bylaws, membership criteria, and historical precedent. Nowhere does it state that consistently unlucky qualifies as a legitimate supernatural affliction.
2. I have consulted no fewer than three fortune tellers. Two have since gone into early retirement, and the third simply screamed, threw salt in my face, and fled the premises. That speaks more to their temperament than my supposed "curse.”
3. The unfortunate incidents leading to my reputation have all been mundane in origin. These include, but are not limited to:

• A malfunctioning vending machine that, rather than dispensing my snack, ejected its entire stockpile of candy bars at lethal velocity.
• A flock of geese with a personal vendetta against my existence, whose aggression, while deeply unsettling, is likely biological rather than mystical.
• A cursed deck of playing cards, which I wish to clarify, was not mine. I merely happened to be holding them when the ceiling collapsed.

While deeply inconvenient and occasionally painful, these events do not result from a malevolent supernatural force targeting me. They are simply the universe's way of keeping me humble. I therefore submit this letter as my formal request for immediate revocation of my membership. While I appreciate the Guild's hospitality, I fear any continued association may be detrimental - to me, the organization, and the structural integrity of your headquarters, should my so-called "luck" persist.

I trust that this matter will be resolved swiftly and without incident. (Given my track record, I won't hold my breath.)

With all due respect and a desperate plea for bureaucratic mercy,

Sincerely,

Leonard "Lucky" Fitzpatrick

Letter 2

To: Leonard Fitzpatrick

From: The Esteemed High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

Subject: Membership Confirmation

Dear Mr. Fitzpatrick,

After a thorough and meticulous review of your case - which involved considerable peril for our investigative team - we regret to inform you that your claim of not being cursed is incorrect.

You are, in fact, cursed. Profoundly so.

Our analysis of your documented misfortunes, eyewitness testimonies, and the sheer, improbable chaos that seems to unfold in your immediate vicinity has led us to an irrefutable conclusion: you are afflicted with a Class V Persistent Misfortune Curse - one of the most tenacious and catastrophic we have ever encountered. In layman's terms, your luck is not just bad but apocalyptic.

Therefore, following Guild Law Section 7, Subsection 13, Clause "Oh No", we are required to officially recognize your status and grant you permanent, non-revocable, lifetime membership in the Guild of the Cursed. Congratulations. (And condolences.)

Supporting Evidence of Your Cursed Status:

1. Your nickname, "Lucky," has proven to be a near-prophetic inverse indicator of fortune. Statistically, no one named Lucky has ever been so demonstrably unlucky.
2. The three fortune tellers you consulted. Two of them have now entered voluntary seclusion, refusing to speak of what they saw. The third has requested witness protection.
3. Your latest letter to the Council. In the process of reviewing your appeal, we regret to report that:

• Our curse-tracking scroll spontaneously combusted (which, for the record, is not standard behavior).
• One of our esteemed council members choked on a crumpet - a fate both embarrassing and lethal had our emergency protocols not been in place.
• Our headquarters was struck by lightning. Twice.

Given these circumstances, we cannot, in good conscience, revoke your membership. In fact, it is our professional recommendation that you embrace your fate and take full advantage of the Guild's many support programs, including but not limited to:

• "Survival Tips for the Magically Misfortunate" is a seminar on living with an active curse while minimizing structural damage.
• The Curse Exchange Program (we don't recommend this in your case - yours seems uniquely attached to your existence).
• Complimentary protective charms (which, based on our records, may have a 72% chance of immediate self-destruction upon contact with you).

In summary, you belong here, Leonard. The universe has spoken repeatedly, usually involving airborne snack foods, vengeful waterfowl, and spontaneous property damage.

Welcome to the Guild! We look forward to your participation - assuming you make it through the next week unscathed.

P.S. We strongly recommend avoiding ladders, mirrors, and large bodies of water. Just a hunch.

Best regards,

The High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

Letter 3

To: The Esteemed High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

From: Leonard "Lucky" Fitzpatrick

Subject: Immediate Reconsideration Request

Dear Esteemed High Council,

With all due respect and increasing desperation, I must again insist that your evaluation of my situation is deeply flawed.

While I acknowledge that an inordinate number of unfortunate events tend to occur in my vicinity, I maintain that this is mere coincidence rather than the result of a supernatural curse. Correlation, as any respectable scholar would agree, does not equal causation.

For instance, I experienced what some might describe last week as a "cascade of misfortunes," though I prefer the term "series of entirely unrelated, if regrettable, incidents."

Exhibit A: The Cabbage Incident

While walking down a seemingly ordinary street, I tripped on a loose cobblestone (a municipal oversight, not magic), which led to the following sequence of events:

1. I fell, quite gracefully (in my opinion), into a cart full of cabbages.
2. The momentum propelled said cabbages into the path of a passing juggler performing with flaming torches.
3. Startled, the juggler lost control of his torches and ignited a nearby banner, which happened to be the centerpiece of the annual street festival.
4. This, in turn, led to the impromptu evacuation of the festival, the collapse of a decorative archway, and the mayor requesting that I "never set foot in his city again.”

Was this unfortunate? Yes.

Was this my fault? Questionable.

Was this the work of a curse? Debatable at best.

Exhibit B: A Series of Unremarkably Unfortunate Events

Following your last letter, the following completely everyday occurrences took place within a 24-hour period:

• A bird stole my sandwich - not from a table or while I was distracted or eating it. The bird made direct eye contact with me and took half of it out of my mouth.
• A street magician attempted to guess my card during a routine trick. Instead, he successfully made my wallet disappear. Permanently. To this day, I have yet to retrieve it, and he has yet to return to his usual street corner.
• A man on the subway was carrying a swordfish. A whole, entire swordfish. No one questioned it. No one reacted. I was the only one concerned, which I feel is an even more significant anomaly than the presence of the swordfish itself.

While these events are odd and mildly distressing, I see no compelling evidence that they result from an aggressive magical affliction rather than bad luck. I therefore request - no, implore - the Council to reevaluate my case immediately. I am confident that with a more rigorous, science-based approach, we will find that I do not, in fact, meet the criteria for Guild membership.

With the utmost sincerity (and a growing sense of existential dread),

Leonard "Lucky" Fitzpatrick

Letter 4

To: Leonard Fitzpatrick

From: The Esteemed High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

Subject: Proof of Curse - Consider This a Test

Dear Mr. Fitzpatrick,

We acknowledge your skepticism about your deeply unfortunate and irrefutable condition. In the interest of fairness and hoping to settle this matter, we conducted a simple experiment.

To wit: we assigned one of our most experienced Guild researchers to discreetly follow you for a short period today. The goal was simple: observe your daily routine and determine whether your so-called "bad luck" was merely coincidental or, in fact, the result of a powerful, intrinsic curse. What we discovered was nothing short of catastrophic.

Below is a chronological list of unexplainable incidents that occurred within a span of fifteen minutes while you were, to our knowledge, simply attempting to exist:

1. 12:02 PM: You stepped outside and were immediately struck by a falling baguette - its origin is unknown. No nearby bakeries reported missing inventory. The trajectory defied all known laws of physics.

2. At 12:05 PM, you attempted to hail a taxi. Before reaching you, the cab burst into flames. The miraculously unharmed driver exited the vehicle and muttered, "Not again," before walking away.

3. 12:07 PM: As you passed a street musician, his violin spontaneously disintegrated - not broke, not shattered, but disintegrated. Witnesses described it as "turning into dust like something out of an ancient curse-breaking ritual."

4. 12:15 PM: While attempting to jot down notes, our researcher was struck by a passing unicyclist holding a fish. This raises several questions, none of which we can answer.

After thoroughly reviewing our magical archives, we can confirm that no external hexes, spells, or enchantments were placed upon you. No sorcerer was orchestrating your misfortunes. This is entirely your own innate lousy luck.

Conclusion: You Are Cursed. Permanently.

While we admire your dedication to disproving your membership, we regret to inform you that your curse is undeniable, statistically improbable, and, frankly, a little terrifying. Therefore, your Guild membership remains irrevocable, non-negotiable, and legally binding under Guild Law.

P.S. On an unrelated note, we now politely request that you always stay at least fifty feet from Guild Headquarters. This is for reasons both practical and existential. We assess structural damages, insurance liabilities, and the risk of reality bending in your presence.

Best regards,

The High Council of the Guild of the Cursed

Jack snorted as he finished the last letter. "What kind of nutcase writes this?" he muttered.

(A soft shuffle of movement behind him sent a jolt of alarm up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.)

A voice behind him made him jump.

"Who the hell are you yelling at?" Miles stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "I told you to find valuables, not read a bedtime story. I thought you were at a loss for words. Shut up and focus! I've said too much already. Idiot!"

(The flashlight's beam caught the unsettled dust, turning it into a silver haze around Miles' figure. A draft whistled through a broken pane, lifting the edges of the letters in Jack's hand.)

Jack blinked, his face blank. "I found some letters," he blurted. "I thought maybe they could be valuable. Why are you so rude, man.”

Miles sighed, spreading arms. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean that. Now let's...”

(A deep groan reverberated through the house. The walls seemed to breathe. The ceiling creaked, wood splintering as something shifted.)

A light fixture snapped from its rusted chain and fell directly onto Miles' head. Jack froze. The lights flickered. The entire house lurched as if waking up.

(Metal clanged against the wooden floor in a burst of sparks, and Miles' cry was swallowed by the thunderous crash. A wave of biting cold rushed through the corridor, making the broken glass on the floor rattle.)



And somewhere, in the depths of the house, a voice whispered:

"Welcome to the Guild."