Something about her office always seemed dank and depressive. Perhaps it was the whole situation in their village, or perhaps it was her. Sigurd couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had been having for the last couple of weeks. 

He had been seeing things lately, every time he closed his eyes it would come. A flash at first, then a longer scene. It was always something gruesome and grotesque. Death. 

He kept his eyes on her, watching as she flipped through a mountain of files and papers. Her dark blonde hair was falling out of the messy bun that she had attempted. Her eyes glued to the papers before she lifted her gaze and glanced back at him. 

“Do you know? They used to bury their dead in mounds. But at one point they got lazy because there were too many dead. They simply dug a hole in the ground and dumped them all in.” She stopped to roll a cigarette. 

The scent of the tobacco hit him as she licked the paper and placed tobacco neatly along the center in order to roll it. He stared at her lips as she placed the cigarette between them. Her lips curled upwards when she noticed him eyeing her. 

“They are still there. They say some were still alive when they buried them. The plague made people paranoid. They buried those who were too sick as well, to stop the spread,” she explained as she lit her cigarette. The tip glowed brightly as she breathed in the smoke, creating a small cloud as she breathed out. 

Sigurd’s eyes widened, “Runa, what are you saying here?” 

“That they are still there. Somewhere in this village. No one knows where they buried them, you see. They could be right beneath our feet as we speak,” Runa smirked, smoke escaping her pale lips once again as she got up from her chair and walked towards him. 

He glanced down at the floor, a shiver went down his spine. Sigurd didn’t want to think about it, but how could he not? 

“Do you– do you think this has anything to do with what’s been happening around town lately?” He asked her hesitantly, not wanting an answer. 

Runa blew out a large cloud of smoke right into his face, “Of course, I think they’re connected, Sigurd. That old lady down the road suddenly caught the black plague without even having traveled anywhere. Those suspicious deaths around town, and now you’re having strange visions. I’d say it’s the curse,” she muttered, the cigarette dancing on her lip as she moved her mouth. 

“The curse?” Sigurd didn’t know why he kept asking, he did not want the answers. 

Runa grinned, “You haven’t heard of the curse? It’s common knowledge around here. My grandmother would tell me about it, just as her grandmother told her. A witch cursed this village. They say she was buried with the plague victims as well. That she tried to cure them using magic and someone killed her for it. Her curse apparently strikes every hundred and thirteen years. There’s a whole children’s song about it, which I am not going to sing,” she explained as she inhaled the cigarette again. 

Sigurd’s eyes widened even more, “Now that you tell me, I’m pretty sure I know the song. If not for these insistent visions I’ve been getting I would not believe you. But for some reason I do.” 

Runa scoffed, “No one believes it. That’s part of the curse. It sounds more like a folk tale than reality, does it not?” Smoke exited her lips as she caressed his cheek. 

Sigurd nodded his head. He knew no one else would believe it, “So how do we break the curse?” Again he didn’t want the answer. 

“I believe your visions might be key here,” Runa suggested as she leaned back on the desk. 

“My visions? How?” Sigurd swallowed hard. He hated those visions. Death. Dying. Pain and suffering. He longed for a way to make them end. 

The cigarette hung neatly on her lip as she spoke, “Curses always have a key. A way to release it all. I think your visions will tell us how.” 

“The only things the visions are telling me are that people suffered and died. That’s all. Nothing else,” he muttered, not wanting to revisit them. 

Runa shook her head as she put out her cigarette in the ashtray, “No. You’re wrong. It’s in the details, darling. All in the details. You’re not looking, you’re just running from them.” 

“What if I don’t want to look? You try having these visions,” he exclaimed and turned around. He hated how she might be right. 

Runa reached out her arm, tracing his shoulder as she whispered into his ear, “It’s alright. I’m right here. I can’t have them. Only a descendant of the one who placed the curse will have the visions.” 

Sigurd slowly turned his head towards her, “What do you mean? I’m related to a witch?” 

She smiled wide, “That’s exactly what I’m saying, darling. You’re awfully slow at catching onto things.” Her fingers wrapped around his neck, “In fact, we’re not even having this conversation.” Her nail dug into his neck, blood trickled down. 

Sigurd snapped out of his own head, Runa was staring back at him like a giant question mark. He had closed his eyes, hadn’t he? He sighed and held his neck, he could still feel the pain. This one was different. He should tell her, right? 

“Is everything alright? You had another vision didn’t you?” Runa asked him, the cigarette still at her lips. 

He nodded hesitantly, “I did. It was a bit different. I need a moment to breathe,” Sigurd mumbled before running out of the office, out of the building. 

The cold hair hit his face as he stepped outside, the scent of snow was in the air. Sigurd furrowed his eyebrows, it was only August, wasn’t it? He gazed out at the large lake, the fields, and the green forest. 

“Everything is upside down. Perhaps I do need to look deeper,” he whispered to himself.