Serial killer

Your alarm blared in your ear, yanking you from sleep. You groaned, rolled over to shut it off, and somehow managed to get your foot tangled in the covers. With a yelp, you tumbled out of bed, face-first into the wooden floor. “Seriously?” you muttered, voice muffled against the ground.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, you took a shower—and dropped the soap. Once. Twice. Then five times. You stared at it, lying there like a taunt from the universe. “What is my luck?!”

By the time you made it to the kitchen, your grandma had set out a warm plate of food for you. The scent made your stomach growl. You reached for it, smiling—until your dog came sprinting in, barking. You yelped, lost balance, and the plate slipped from your hands. It shattered on the floor. Your dog was already digging into the mess. “What is my luck...” you groaned again, arms falling limp to your sides.

Your grandma just chuckled from the stove. “I’ll make another, don’t worry.”

After eating you went to change into your gardening clothes. Out in the garden, your bad luck continued. One of your tomato plants had rotted completely. You narrowed your eyes at it like it personally offended you. You yanked it out, tossed it aside, and went to grab a bag of fresh soil—only to find you were out. You kicked the dirt lightly and huffed. “Of course.”

After telling your grandma you’d be back, you hopped in your truck and drove to the nearest gardening store. Sold out. The next one? Sold out. Three more stores. Same result. Your head hit the steering wheel in defeat. “What. Is. My. Luck.”

Just before nightfall, you pulled into one last shop—and they actually had soil. You almost cried tears of joy. You bought five big bags, waited in an endless line, and finally got out. Relief washed over you... until your truck sputtered halfway home and died on the side of a dark, empty road.

You climbed out, slamming the door shut. “What is my LUCK?!”

There was no one in sight. The only sound was the chirp of crickets. You looked down at the heavy bags of soil, then at the long road ahead. “Guess I’m walking.” You loaded the bags onto an old metal dolly from the back, adjusted your grip, and started the slow trek.

Not even halfway down the road, you tripped on a rock. The dolly wobbled, nearly tipping. You flailed to catch it—and somehow managed to. “Ha! Nice try, fate. But I’m not done yet!” you shouted victoriously.

That’s when a crow swooped down and started pecking at one of the bags. You screamed, swatting at it. The dolly tipped over with a loud crash, sending the bags tumbling. One rolled down the side of a hill into a dark forest. “No no no no no—!”

The crow perched on a tree branch and let out a series of caws that sounded suspiciously like laughter. You glared at it, picked up a rock, and chucked it towards the crow. “Stupid bird!” The rock bounced off a tree and hit you square in the forehead. “Ow!”

You clutched your head, trying not to scream, trying not to cry. The crow cawed again, and your eye twitched. With a deep breath, you forced a smile and descended the slope to retrieve the runaway bag.

You found it near the tree line and picked it up with a smile of relief... and then you froze. Two men stood ahead—one had the other pinned to a tree. Before you could process what you were seeing, the attacker plunged a knife into the man’s chest. Blood splattered the bark. The victim gurgled, collapsed, and went still.

You gasped and stumbled back, stepping on a twig.

Snap.

The killer’s head turned sharply. He looked straight toward the sound.

You ducked behind a tree, heart racing, breath shaky. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to keep quiet.

Silence.

You peeked out—he was gone.

You exhaled slowly. Relief started to settle in your chest. But when you turned—

He was right behind you.

A tall, shadowed figure with cold, piercing eyes. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t even scream.

Your luck is definitely cursed.