Max's Curse

Okay. So. I was cursed. By a witch. Because I asked her daughter out. Gabby.

To be fair, she warned me.

But Gabby and I had been in a few classes together, and honestly, who in their right mind curses young love in the making?

I didn’t know her mum was a witch. She looked normal!

Well… sort of normal.

Okay, there were some weird things in the kitchen—and I’m not talking about a jar of fermenting kombucha. I’m talking crystals. Black salt. A broom in the corner that was very much functional, not decorative. And a smug-looking cat that blinked like it knew every mistake I’d ever made.

Red flags? Definitely. But I was eighteen. Overconfident. And allegedly “very charming.”

Now, I should probably mention—it wasn’t the dating that got me in trouble.

It was the breakup.

We weren’t even yelling. Gabby was just upset. Things weren’t working out, and I thought we were handling it maturely.

Until her mum walked in. She saw Gabby’s eyes, red with tears and locked her gaze on me. Then she pointed a finger and muttered something under her breath.

✨ Sparkles.

😖 Pain.

😱 Panic.

My body folded in on itself like a cursed origami swan.

I hit the floor—well, technically, a potted plant—hard.

Everything was smaller. Or… I was and the next thing I knew—I had fur and a tail. And my ears...were huge.

I looked down at my tiny hands. Correction: paws.

Ever seen those haunted plush toys online? The ones with soulless eyes and an energy that says, "I whisper in Latin at 3 a.m."?

Yeah. That’s me now.

I tried to scream “WHAT THE—”

Nothing. Not a sound. Not even a gasp.

I looked up and watched Gabby’s mum wrap her arms around her, guiding her out of the kitchen like I wasn’t even there. Like I wasn’t a small, helpless creature having a full-on identity crisis under the ficus.

“All men are the same,” she muttered. “Another one. Why are they all like this?”

Gabby didn’t say a word to me as she left the kitchen.

Gabby knew.

She knew her mum was unhinged. She knew what was going to happen to me.

And she let it happen.

Then her mother returned. She looked down at me like I was something unpleasant growing out of her favourite plant.

I screamed in my head. Loudly. But on the outside? Nothing.

She bent down and picked me up by the foot. I tried to resist, to kick, to squirm—but my limbs just flopped like overcooked spaghetti.

She held me at arm’s length. Then, without a word, she walked through the house, opened the back door… and tossed me into the bin.

“Where you belong,” she spat, slamming the lid shut.

I lay there. In the dark, in garbage, next to what I really hoped was a banana peel and not something still alive.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

I don’t know how long I was in there. Time works differently when you’re mute, furry, and discarded.

Eventually, the sounds outside changed. Crows gave way to owls. The air turned colder. The bin creaked. Something hissed. Something else scurried. Maybe hissed again. Or burped. I don’t know. Everything was terrifying.

Morning came. Birds chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Then, with a grumble and a metallic roar, the garbage truck came. The bin was lifted, tilted, and dumped.

I tumbled out, along with a tidal wave of orange peels, greasy pizza boxes, and a dented can of what I really hope was beans. I landed on the pavement with a wet splut, just as a group of kids came walking by.

"Whoa, what is that?" one of them said.

And that’s how I met Jeremy.

Jeremy was ten, wore enormous glasses, and carried a bulging, worn-out backpack.

"It’s like a… mutant Furby," said his friend Miles, poking me with a pencil.

"It’s not a Furby," Jeremy said, lifting me up. "It’s a Labubu. See the ears? The weird teeth? Definitely Labubu. It's so ugly, probably a rare one."

If I could’ve spoken, I’d have told them both to stop manhandling me. Instead, I groaned inwardly as Jeremy tucked me under his arm like some prized collectible.

"I’m naming him Lucas," he declared. "Lucas the Labubu."

Oh great. Except my name is Max.

As they walked, Jeremy launched into a loud, detailed monologue about Dungeons and Dragons. I was losing my mind. My only consolation? At least I wasn’t in the trash anymore.

We reached the school.

Jeremy patted my head. "You stay here. I’ve got sport. If Miles tries to touch you again, bite him."

I was about to roll my eyes—when I remembered I couldn’t. He dropped the backpack on the ground outside the gym and dashed off. So I just lay there, in his open backpack.

For a little while, I stared at the sky, pondering whether this was a nightmare. Because if it wasn't, I had no clue how I was going to get out of this.

That's when I heard the snuffling.

A low, happy pant. Tiny paws on concrete.

Then—BAM. A puppy.

It looked like a husky. Big eyes. Big smile. A tail wagging so hard it looked like it might detach and fly away.

It sniffed the backpack. Then me.

Before I could think of an escape plan, its mouth opened and everything went dark.

And that’s how I ended up in a slobbery, panting prison. So much slobber. This felt like torture. Gabby had warned me her mum was overprotective, but this was insanity. Maybe I should've checked her basement for voodoo dolls and ritual circles before I asked her out.