01/11/2025
EP 2
THE CURSE OF MAVHOYA FOREST 🦴
In the remote village of Tshikombani, people whispered of Mavhoya Forest — a place no one entered after sunset. It was said that the wind there spoke in human voices and that the trees themselves moved when the moon was full.
Years ago, a woman named Naledzani lived at the edge of that forest. She was known for her strange herbs, her talking crow, and her midnight chants. The villagers called her the night mother — a witch who could heal or harm, depending on what she was paid.
One season, the crops failed. Children fell sick, and the river dried up overnight. The chief accused Naledzani of bringing a curse upon the land. They dragged her out of her hut, tied her to a tree, and burned her alive. As the flames consumed her, she laughed — not screamed — and shouted,
You will all eat from my hands when the moon bleeds!”🌚🌕
For many years, peace returned. But then, one night, the moon turned red.
People heard whispers outside their doors, calling their names. The livestock screamed through the night, and children began disappearing — one each night, always before dawn. Those who followed the footprints found them leading into Mavhoya Forest… and ending at the same scorched tree where Naledzani had died.
A hunter named Rhulani, desperate to end the terror, entered the forest carrying charms blessed by the village priest. He followed the crying voices until he reached a clearing. There, he found a circle of dolls made from roots and hair, each with a child’s name carved into its chest.
When he touched one, the dolls turned their heads toward him — their eyes glowing red. In the middle of the circle stood Naledzani, her skin charred black, her mouth stretched too wide to be human.
> “You burned me,” she hissed. “Now you’ll burn for me.”
Rhulani screamed as the forest came alive — branches wrapping around him, pulling him into the soil. By morning, all that remained was his spear and a new doll lying beside it — carved with his name.
Since then, every red moon, another villager vanishes. The forest grows thicker. And sometimes, when the wind passes through Tshikombani, it carries a woman’s laughter — soft, distant, and full of vengeance.
