Curse Within A Curse

The mangkukulam—agents of dark magic, known for casting curses, hexes, and mysterious illnesses on the unfortunate.

And the albularyo—folk healers revered for their herbal magic and healing arts.

For centuries—maybe even millennia—they were mortal enemies.

Until now, maybe.

— • —

“Good morning!” Victor greeted, grinning at Aurora.

Aurora bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cool as heat rushed to her face.

Their classmates watched the usual routine unfold—then broke into howls and whistles, egging the two on.

“Hey, Orang! Say good morning back!” a girl teased.

“Ikong! Do it again—this time with flowers!” someone else shouted.

Aurora paused, realizing just how much attention they were getting. Soon, the whole hallway was watching, drawn by the noise.

Victor stayed cool, his lips curved in amusement. Aurora, on the other hand, felt the blood rush to her ears.

“STOP, GODDAMN IT! HELL NO!!” Aurora screeched, flailing like a gremlin.

The hallway went quiet—except for a few scattered whispers and that shared, smug “Okay, fine” vibe everyone wore.

As the crowd dispersed, only Aurora and Victor remained.

Their eyes met.

Aurora sighed and turned toward the classroom door. Victor watched her go, still wearing that infuriating half-smile.

He glanced at his watch—just in time for the school chime to ring.

“Crap,” he muttered, dashing inside and yanking the sliding door shut behind him.

— • —

The professor’s chalk scratched across the blackboard while the students scribbled notes in quiet concentration.

Victor glanced sideways at his new seatmate with growing curiosity.

Aurora sat beside him, tongue poking out slightly as she scribbled into an old, worn notebook.

He raised a brow, subtly leaning in to peek at what she was writing.

She caught him staring.

“What?” she snapped, angling her body to shield the notebook from his nosy eyes.

Victor just grinned.

“You’re cute.”

The whole class whipped their heads around like security cameras on high alert. Someone whistled. Then came the howls, the teasing, the chaos.

The professor turned around, chalk still in hand. “What’s going on?”

“Sir, Ikong said Orang is cute!” someone tittered gleefully.

Aurora hissed, her hair practically rising like Medusa’s.

The professor tapped the desk, unfazed.

“Alright, I’m continuing. Keep writing.”

Then, to Victor—

“Mr. Galang, stop teasing Ms. Masinag. Save it for after class.”

The class snickered. Aurora did not.

— • —

That night, Aurora returned to her scribbles. She could’ve finished hours ago—if not for Victor’s constant teasing throwing her off.

She leaned back in her chair and raised the notebook like a trophy, proud of her “achievement.”

“Okay… now what?”

She set the notebook down and folded her arms behind her head. She’d finished the first part of the ritual—but had no clue how to actually pull it off.

Her mind wandered. And, of course, in came Victor.

Aurora clutched her head like she’d just walked in on a cursed vision.

“Damn it, Victor. Why are you such a pest?”

But the harder she tried to push him out of her head, the more his face clung to her thoughts.

“Why does he have to be like that?” she muttered.

“He’s annoying. Always saying dumb things. And I get teased every single time because of him.”

Her inner monologue spiraled.

“I wanna punch that stupid, handsome face. I hate that sweet, smug smile.
And the way he walks like he owns the hallway? I swear—I wanna slam him into the pavement.”

She stopped to catch her breath, chest rising with frustration.

“Why won’t you just stay away, you idiot?”

But the question lingered. With all his stupid charm and nice-guy attitude, he could easily win over someone else—probably already had.

She’d even overheard some girls gossiping about him over lunch.

And yet… he kept sticking to her. Hovering. Snooping. Acting like she wasn’t a walking disaster.

Aurora lingered in her storm of thoughts until a voice from downstairs broke through.

“Orang! Your Lola’s here! And we’re having dinner! Come down!”

She groaned, dragging herself up from her chair.

“…Just great,” she mumbled, stomping out of her room.

— • —

The meal was hefty, and everyone leaned back, full and satisfied. Amid the chatter, Aurora rubbed her belly and let out a shameless burp.

“Hey! Stop that!” her sister teased. “That’s exactly why you still don’t have a boyfriend.”

Aurora clicked her tongue. “Who cares? I don’t need liabilities.”

Her grandmother chuckled, a soft knowing laugh that made Aurora pause.

“Lola,” she said, lowering her voice, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dear. What is it?”

Aurora leaned in slightly. “Do you know a curse that’ll make people stay away from me?”

The table went silent. Forks paused. Eyes shifted. Then, one by one, everyone turned toward Grandma.

Grandma raised an eyebrow. “Alright, dear… let’s talk.”

She took Aurora’s hand and gently led her upstairs. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden staircase, slow and deliberate.

At her desk, Aurora handed over a worn notebook, the pages full of scribbles.

“Here, Lola. I copied these from the old notes Mom gave me.”

Grandma took it, scanning the page with calm eyes.

“You wrote these? Hmm... these could actually work. Let’s see.”

She reached into her old tote bag—the one she always carried—and pulled something out.

A small straw doll, roughly sewn and bound with red thread.

“Here’s what you need to do…” Grandma began, her voice dropping just slightly.

Aurora narrowed her eyes.

Suddenly, lightning flashed outside the window, casting a strobe of white across the room. Grandma didn’t flinch.

“At midnight,” she continued, “set up five candles in the shape of a pentagram. Recite the curse you wrote. Word for word. Then—” she pulled out a needle, thin and glinting. “…stab it right through the doll’s heart.”

Aurora gulped as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Got it? Do that, and that person will stay away from you… for as long as the pin stays in.”

Aurora nodded, her expression determined—though a little unsure.

— • —

That night, she followed the instructions to the letter. The room glowed in flickering candlelight, shadows dancing across the walls.

She knelt before the straw doll. Her voice trembled slightly as she read the curse aloud. Then—with a deep breath—she drove the needle straight into its heart.

She smirked.

With a satisfied nod, she tucked the doll into her school bag, flopped into bed, and pulled the blanket over her head.

— • —

“Good morning!”

Aurora froze mid-step, absolutely mortified.

Victor greeted her with his usual sunny grin.

Cue the whistles. The teasing. The same damn crowd.

By the end of the school day, Aurora was walking home bow-legged and fuming.

“That idiot,” she muttered. “He must’ve countered the curse. Probably used some albularyo reverse magic or whatever.”

She turned the knob of the front door and swung it open hard. Inside, she stomped through the hallway, finding Grandma calmly sipping tea in front of the TV.

“Lola! It didn’t work!”

Grandma jumped, nearly spilling her tea.

“Susmaryosep, Orang! What didn’t work?”

“The curse! He still approached me like always—no hesitation, no problem, no side effects!”

Grandma frowned, thinking. “Hmm… I’m sure I gave the right instructions. Did you write the curse exactly as it was?”

“Yes! Based on the old notes Mom gave me. I’m sure of it!”

A quiet pause settled between them.

“…Oh.”

Aurora squinted. “What do you mean, ‘oh’?”

“I just remembered something,” Grandma said, setting her cup down. “For that particular curse to work…”

She looked Aurora straight in the eye.

“…the person has to be in love.”

Aurora blinked. “Wait. In love with…?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you?”

Aurora froze. Her soul left her body for two full seconds.

“…Oh crap.”

— • —

Author’s notes:

Orang – Aurora’s nickname.

Ikong – Victor’s nickname.

Lola – Filipino term for “Grandma”.

Susmaryosep – Filipino colloquial term similar to “Oh my god.”, expressed when surprised, etc.

Also, I am not very keen on the deeper cultural aspects surrounding the albularyo or mangkukulam, and I only have surface-level knowledge of these topics.