The Cursed Treasure of Antigua

The Map in the Cathedral

James Thornton was not a man who put much stock in ghost stories. As an archaeologist and historian, he had spent years unraveling the truth behind myths, and nine times out of ten, the supernatural element had a logical explanation.

So when he stumbled upon a fragment of an old map behind an aging painting in San Francisco Church, he was intrigued—but not afraid.

The map had been hidden for centuries, its edges crumbling with age. But the markings—symbols, coordinates, and an inscription half-erased by time—were clear enough to hint at something extraordinary.

James brought it straight to Mariana Castillo, his longtime friend and a historian at El Museo de Santiago. She was a local, born and raised in Antigua, with a deep reverence for its past.

Mariana examined the map under the dim museum lights, running her fingers over the faded parchment.

“This symbol here—” she pointed at a serpent wrapped around a cross “—it’s not just decorative. It was the mark of an old Spanish sect, the Orden de la Sangre Dorada.”

“The Order of the Golden Blood?” James repeated.

She nodded. “They were rumored to have hidden something beneath the ruins of an old monastery. But the priest who sealed it away left a warning—‘The treasure is not for mortal hands.’”

James smirked. “Sounds dramatic.”

Mariana sighed. “James, I’m serious. Legends don’t just come from nowhere.”

But James was already lost in thought, tracing the markings on the map. If the treasure was real, they could be on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries in history.

What could possibly go wrong?

The First Warning

The next morning, the two set off toward La Recolección, the ruins of a monastery destroyed by an earthquake centuries ago. It was a site few ventured into, mostly due to the unstable remains of its massive stone walls.

As they wandered through the overgrown courtyard, Mariana stopped suddenly.

“James…” she whispered.

Carved into the side of a crumbling wall was the same serpent-cross symbol from the map. Beneath it, an inscription in Latin:

"Quicumque hoc attigerit, damnabitur aeternum."

James ran a hand over the carving. “Whoever touches this will be damned for eternity…”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Just another scare tactic.”

Mariana wasn’t convinced.

Then, suddenly—

A gust of wind howled through the ruins, kicking up dust and debris. It wasn’t just a breeze—it was a force. A presence.

Then, with a deep, resounding crack, a section of the stone collapsed, nearly crushing them both.

Mariana gasped, stepping back. “Tell me that was a coincidence.”

James’s heart pounded, but he forced a smirk. “Coincidence.”

But as they stood there, catching their breath, neither of them could ignore the unmistakable feeling:

They had been warned.

The Keeper of the Gold

The passage beneath La Recolección was narrow and stifling, the air thick with dust and age. James and Mariana moved cautiously, their flashlights revealing eerie carvings of suffering souls, eyes hollow with despair.

They pressed on until they reached a hidden chamber.

And there, in the dim light, was a sarcophagus, its lid marked with the familiar serpent-cross.

James hesitated, but his curiosity got the better of him. He placed his hands on the lid and pushed.

With a low, grinding groan, the stone shifted.

Inside, piled high, was gold—coins, goblets, and precious jewels, gleaming even in the darkness. But at the very top of the pile lay something that made Mariana’s breath catch in her throat.

A mummified figure.

Its hollow eye sockets stared into nothingness. Its fingers—long, skeletal—were curled as if frozen mid-gesture.

Then—

It moved.

A dry whisper filled the air, not in Spanish, nor Latin, but something ancient.

James jerked back as the corpse’s hand clamped onto his wrist.

The chamber shook, the walls trembling as if the earth itself was rejecting their presence.

Mariana gasped. “James, we need to—”

The corpse rose, its mouth opening in a silent scream.

“Mortui custodiunt aurum.”

James’s breath hitched.

Mariana’s face turned white.

“The dead guard the gold.”

The Escape

The whispers grew louder.

Figures moved in the shadows, their skeletal hands reaching.

James grabbed Mariana’s arm. “RUN.”

They bolted, dodging crumbling stones as the chamber collapsed around them. The passage trembled violently, dust and rock falling like a storm.

Mariana tripped, gasping as something cold brushed her ankle.

James pulled her up, shoving her forward just as a bony hand lunged from the darkness.

They barely made it out before the tunnel caved in behind them.

For several long moments, they just stood there, panting, staring at the ruins in stunned silence.

Then Mariana turned to James, her voice shaking.

“It’s cursed.”

James nodded, still catching his breath. “We leave it buried.”

The Final Omen

Days passed, and the legend of the Cursed Treasure of Antigua remained just that—a legend.

James and Mariana never spoke of what happened that night.

But something lingered.

Mariana swore she could still hear whispers in the wind.

And James?

One morning, he found something in his pocket.

A single gold coin, etched with a serpent and a cross.

His fingers tingled as he stared at it, a chill crawling up his spine.

He never touched it again.

But some nights—long after he had gone to bed—he swore he could hear it.

Whispering.

Epilogue: Some Treasures Are Meant to Stay Hidden

The treasure of Antigua remained undiscovered.

Or perhaps, it was simply waiting.

For the next fool to try and claim it.

THE END.