HORROR
Code Red
The Blood-Soaked Legacy of Elara’s Revenge
The little town of Sapulpa was covered in an endless fog, a thick, stifling blanket of anxiety that appeared to permeate the very bones of its people. Hidden from prying eyes near the brink of town, an old, crumbling manor had long been abandoned. Stories of a murderous witch who had formerly resided there, whispers of a curse, and of the terrible atrocities she had produced hung in the air.
Rose, a young curious streak-driven macabre enthusiast, had heard the stories all her life. She agreed to see the manor on a dare from her buddies. Her flashlight flickering in the dark, she entered the silent hallways. Her footsteps echoed there. She was pulled to an ancient, dusty journal laying open on a table with unusual symbols and enigmatic notes.
A chill shot her spine as she read. The notebook chronicled the life of a woman named Elara, who was hanged centuries ago convicted of witchcraft. The mythology holds that Elara had cursed the Sapulpa women. Driven to acts of unspeakable savagery, each month during their menstruation they would undergo a terrible metamorphosis.
Rose laughed at the proposal, but the room seemed colder as she turned to go. Her abdomen hurt so strongly she doubled over. Her agony got worse and she knew, with increasing dread, the curse was genuine. She started to feel her body change. Her vision flashed and she fell, her lantern clattering to the ground.
Rose woke up and discovered she was in her bedroom sweating profundly. She attempted to discount the dream, but the agony persisted — a gnawing anguish that would not go away. Her calendar showed a red circle designating the first day of her period. Her heart sped as she recalled the curse, but she persuaded herself it was only her imagination.
Rose felt the suffering come back that evening as the full moon rose, more acute than it had been. She staggered clutching her stomach to the bathroom. Her eyes gleamed a terrible scarlet as her mirror reflection twisted and deformed. Her teeth stretched into fangs and her nails developed into vicious claws. She yelled, but the sound she produced was guttural, animalistic, and reverberated the house.
Rose lost control and was driven by a terrible hunger. She ripped across the town, leaving a path of carnage and devastation behind her. Fear paralyzing the townspeople, they locked windows and doors, praying for the dream to pass.
Rose woke covered in blood in the woods by daybreak. She couldn remember what she had done, but the devastation all around her told the tale. Desperate for explanation, terrified and perplexed she ran back to the manor. Her hands shaking, she found the diary and perused the last entry.
“Only the blood of the witch’s descendants may break the curse,” it said. “Seek the bloodline and end the craziness.”
Rose searched her background, resolved to lift the curse and found a startling fact. She descended directly from Elara, the witch beginning it all. Her heart heavy, she knew what she had to do.
Rose went back to the manor one more evening beneath the full moon. She stood before an old altar, the notebook held in her hand. She battled the beast inside her, every bit of her strength used to resist as the metamorphosis started. She sank a dagger into her heart in a last, frantic act, her blood splashing upon the altar.
Though at great sacrifice, the curse was broken. Rose’s sacrifice released the ladies of Sapulpa from their suffering and stopped the terrible cycle. The town never forgot, though, the red curse or the courageous young woman who gave her life to save them.
The fog covering Sapulpa increased, engulfing the town in a stifling hug. It was reported that the mansion might hear echoes of agonizing screams at the densest of the fog. The evenings got colder, and the curse’s whispers became frantic murmurs. Still, there were evenings when the darkness appeared to have a life of its own, when shadows twisted into hideous shapes and invisible eyes peered from all around.
Individuals started to vanish. Children would vanish only to be discovered days later; their bodies were disfigured and bloodless. The animals of the town were agitated, screaming and howling at unearthly atrocities. Those who ventured too near the mansion reported of whispers guiding them to the brink of lunacy, of eyes peering back at them from the darkness.
Mothers would wake in the dead of night to discover their daughters standing over them, their red eyes flickering and Elara’s name whispered. Rose had lifted the spell, but Elara’s soul stayed ravenous for retribution, feeding off Sapulpa’s terror and hopelessness.
A focal point of evil turned out to be the old altar Rose had sacrificed herself on. People claimed to have seen her spirit, blood-soaked and howling in pain, as though caught in a lifetime of anguish. The curse seemed to have evolved into something far darker, far more deadly.
Dreaming in the waking world, Sapulpa had evolved into a town permanently scarlet cursed. And the horrors of Elara’s heritage would haunt her streets long as the fog persisted, evidence of the darkness that would never be really eradicated.
