The Tale of Marcy, the Girl with the Ebony Hair
Once upon a time, in the shadowy town of Shadeville, thrived a dreadful tale. A tale of Marcy, the girl with the ebony hair. For those who remember her, her name echoed through the walls of their homes like a chilling wind.
Her legend began on a stormy night. Marcy was a young maiden, beautiful as day, her ebony black hair shone even in the meager light. But behind this her clear blue eyes, was an abyss of untold mysteries, ones you'd wish to never unravel.
"Beware of the ebony maiden, Dearest. Dark hair, deep eyes, a demon in disguise!"
These were the words all parents of Shadeville whispered in their children's ears. It was the only hymn they were taught and told to remember. They spoke this in hushed tones, as if uttering these words might summon the vengeful ghost of Marcy.
The tale went like this:
Marcy lived with her mother in a stone cottage, nestled amidst thick cotton woods at the edge of the town where light barely trailed. The mother and daughter duo were complete paragons of virtue, or so it seemed. Beneath their angelic facades, however, simmered an unimaginable darkness.
The mother was a witch and had passed on her dark arts to her daughter. Marcy wasn’t born with topaz eyes and raven hair. It was a guise, a powerful spell her mother had cast to disguise her daughter's true appearance, which, if revealed, would reflect her inhuman nature.
"Remember, child, beauty draws people in. But power, power holds them there."
Marcy's mother would often whisper this in her ear, embedding her with more than just her mother's magical abilities. Power was Marcy's very being, and she reveled in it.
Years passed by and children of Shadeville often vanished without a trace. Whispers brewed in the town about Marcy and her mother's atrocity. Their fear of the unknown climaxed on one fateful night. An angry mob, equipped with torches and pitchforks, stormed Marcy's abode, demanding justice.
To their horror, they found no trace of them. Instead, they stumbled upon several intricate artifacts, each one more terrifying than the last. Turning their eyes towards a giant mirror, they noticed an inscribed warning:
"Curse upon the curser, darkness to the defier. You rouse the black hair maiden, pay the price higher."
A morbid sense of dread slithered through the crowd. It started with a shiver, then moments later, the glistening torches sputtered and died. Silence. Only that deafening silence echoed within those cursed walls. They could sense her presence. Even in her absence, Marcy was all around them.
One by one, each member of the mob fell prey to the curse, their demise manifesting itself as they succumbed to horrific accidents. This whispered secret opened up to enormous sound amplifying the fear within the minds of the inhabitants. Shadeville wilted in fear and remorse.
Years passed, and the tale of Marcy turned into no more than a bedtime story shared amongst townsfolk. Yet, the shadow of Marcy's curse still looms over the town. Marcy became a dire admonition, a dreadful legend, a shadow one would stay clear from.
As the dusk descends, the aged folks locked themselves and their children inside, triple-checking each lock. The young ones, huddled around the fireplace, dared each other to say her name aloud.
"Marcy, Marcy, the girl with the ebony hair."
Although no one has seen Marcy since that day, some swear that they hear whispers in the wind and catch a glimpse of her reflection in the still water.
Rest in peace in Shadeville now equates to 'Resist the curse of the ebony hair maiden'. The echoes of their trembling voices answering their children’s innocent inquiry still resonate in the air:
"Who's Marcy?"
The answer to which is an eerie silence, a silence that rings louder than any sound. The tale ends here, with unanswered questions, mysteries lurking at every corner, and the suspense of Marcy’s return, that has put Shadeville in a never-ending nightmare.
The tale of Marcy, the girl with the ebony hair, still lives on. And so does the spine-chilling suspense...
