The Crimson Warning

Aarav stood frozen in the doorway, rain pounding against the windows of Blackthorn Manor. The woman before him was soaked from head to toe, her black raincoat glistening with stormwater. Her dark hair stuck to her face, and her breath came in sharp bursts.

"You must be Aarav Mehta," she repeated, her voice calm but urgent. "I've been trying to reach you. We need to talk. Now."

Aarav swallowed, unsure whether to trust her, but something in her piercing gaze told him she wasn't here by chance. He nodded slowly and stepped aside, motioning her in.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the manor reacted. The candlelight in the hallway flickered violently. Somewhere upstairs, the wooden beams creaked with a low, unsettling groan — as though the house itself was alive and unhappy about this new presence.

"This place doesn't like visitors," she said under her breath, glancing around.

Aarav grabbed a towel and handed it to her. As she dried her hands, her eyes moved quickly, scanning every detail of the room — the cracked walls, the open wooden box on the table, the old diary, and the pendant resting near the fireplace.

Her expression hardened.

"So… you've already found it," she whispered.

"The Eye."

They moved into the study, where the firelight cast long shadows that danced on the bookshelves. The storm outside roared like an angry beast, rattling the windows. Aarav poured hot tea, though his hands shook slightly. The woman — Maya Collins — reached into her bag and pulled out a leather-bound journal. The cover was battered, its edges singed with age.

In faded black ink, the title read:

"The Crimson Eye: A History of the Forgotten Cult of Ravendale."

Aarav frowned. "What is this?"

Maya's voice was steady, but there was a sadness buried within it.

"My grandmother used to work in this house — as a maid. She died before she could tell me everything, but she left behind notes. I've been chasing answers ever since."

She opened the journal to a page marked with a ribbon. Aarav's breath caught when he saw it — the Eye of Thorns — the same symbol carved into his pendant and the stone compartment under the floorboards.

Maya pointed at it.

"The Crimson Eye was a secret cult formed by Ambrose Blackthorn. They believed they could open a gate to the other side — to eternity itself — through a ritual involving mirrors, blood, and a final sacrifice."

Aarav's mind raced. He thought of Eleanor's diary and her warning about the Hollow Man. He spoke almost to himself:

"Eleanor tried to stop them. She hid the pendant. She left warnings in her diary…"

Maya nodded gravely.

"Yes. But Ambrose wasn't alone. The Crimson Eye wasn't just one man — it was a network of believers. Some say their descendants still live in the town, keeping the cult alive in secret."

Aarav's stomach churned. The idea that the danger wasn't just supernatural but also human made the threat feel heavier, closer.

Before he could respond, a sudden BANG echoed through the manor — loud, violent, as if a piece of furniture had been thrown across the floor upstairs.

Both Aarav and Maya froze. The sound came again, softer but deliberate.

"That's from the attic," Aarav whispered.

Maya's jaw tightened. "We're not going up there. Not yet. Not without protection."

"Protection?" Aarav frowned.

She flipped open her journal and showed him a page filled with intricate markings — a circle surrounded by four ancient symbols, each representing a guardian element: fire, water, ash, and bone.

"It's an old warding sigil," she explained. "It's not… magic, exactly. It's just enough to keep them — whatever they are — from touching your mind."

Aarav looked skeptical. "You believe all of this?"

Maya's gaze was sharp and unwavering. "You do too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have opened that box."

Suddenly, a gust of cold air swept through the room, extinguishing the candles. The fire in the hearth sputtered, almost dying. For a few seconds, there was total darkness. Then, from upstairs, a voice — deep, hollow, and unnatural — whispered:

"You're too late…"

Aarav's breath caught. His heart hammered in his chest. Maya grabbed his arm.

With trembling hands, Aarav relit the candle. The warm glow returned, but both of them froze in horror.

On the far wall of the study, dripping letters had appeared, as if written in fresh blood:

"THE BLOOD MOON RISES."

Maya stepped closer, her eyes wide with dread. She whispered to herself, her voice cracking:

"No… it can't be so soon…"

Aarav stared at her, fear creeping into his voice.

"What happens when it does?"

She turned to him, her expression deadly serious.

"That's when the gate opens. And if we don't stop it — the dead won't stay dead anymore."