The Curse of Third Wish
A Haunting Tale of Forbidden Desires and Inescapable Consequences**
In a nameless, rain-lashed city where poverty clings to its residents like a second skin, an aging couple—**Haris and Amina**—struggle to survive in the shadow of relentless hardship. Their only solace is their devoted son, **Zain**, who works grueling shifts at a glass factory, his hands perpetually scarred by shards and heat. Though well past the age when most men marry, Zain has forgone a family of his own, pouring every ounce of his meager earnings into keeping his parents afloat. Their life is a cycle of evictions and crumbling rented rooms—until they move into *House No. 13*, a deceptively airy dwelling with a past that whispers through its warped floorboards.
The Box That Should Have Stayed Buried**
While cleaning, Amina discovers a **carved wooden box** hidden beneath a loose floorboard. Its surface is etched with a warning: *"Do not let greed conquer you."* Ignoring her husband’s pleas to leave it untouched, she pries it open to find a **40-bead rosary** and three slips of paper labeled:
1. *Your life’s first wish*
2. *Your life’s second wish*
3. *Your life’s third wish*
Instructions scrawled inside the lid read: *"Write your desires. Misuse them, and fate will reclaim its due."*
The First Wish: A Glimpse of Hope**
Amina’s trembling hand writes: *"Let my son rise from this poverty."* Within days, Zain is promoted to foreman at the factory. The family rejoices—until Amina, emboldened, makes her **second wish**: *"Let my son marry into wealth, and let gold fill our home."* Soon, Zain is wed to the factory owner’s daughter, and coins spill from Amina’s once-empty cupboards.
But the house grows colder. Zain’s new wife **flinches at his touch**, as if sensing something wrong. Then, news arrives: **the glass factory has burned to the ground**, and Zain—trapped inside—is reduced to ashes.
The Third Wish: A Mother’s Fatal Love**
Blinded by grief, Amina scribbles her **final wish**: *"Bring my son back to me."*
At midnight, **something knocks**. The door creaks open to reveal Zain—or what’s left of him. His skin peels like melted wax; his eyes are hollow pits. He stumbles forward, whispering, *"You called me back… but the dead belong *there*."* Before Amina can scream, his charred hands close around her throat.
Haris, waking to the noise, finds his wife **dead on the threshold**—her face frozen in terror. The box lies open beside her, its rosary beads now **cracked and blackened**. The third slip of paper is gone.
In the days that follow, Haris vanishes. Neighbors claim to see **three figures** lingering near House No. 13 at dusk: a weeping old man, a woman clutching her throat, and a shadow with smoldering hands. The box, when found by new tenants, contains **fresh slips of paper**—and the cycle begins anew.
