The Curse Of The Red Eye

 

The Curse of the Red Eye

He doesn't know the origin of his curse. He had asked his mum while growing up, but she hadn't given him a good answer. Everyone who looks at him says he looks different from other humans, and yet he is human—or so he thought—but his mom wouldn't say anything about his origin.

It started one morning as he walked to school. He was just ten years old when the curse took effect. As a kid, he was skinny with red eyes that no one could hold eye contact with for more than a few seconds. That day, as he walked, he felt the weather changing. It was sunny when he left home, but after a few blocks, the sky grew darker and the wind picked up. He saw people hurrying toward their homes and others closing shutters, but he trudged on, not wanting to be late.

Soon he could no longer bear the wind as it began peppering him with small pebbles of stone. A man hurrying home at the corner called out, "Hey kid, come over here before it rains!"

"I don't want to be late, sir," he said.

But the man was persistent. "Come on, kid, this is no weather to be walking alone. It's too dangerous."

"I'll manage, sir."

"Come on. You can be on your way when the rain stops. If you're afraid to come inside my home, you can stay on the porch, and I'll provide whatever you need."

That changed his mind. He hated asking for things; it was one of the first rules his mom had taught him: never beg, never eye what doesn't belong to you, and never depend on others. So he huddled at the end of the porch as the man brought him a blanket and hot tea, telling him to ask for anything he needed.

He thanked the man, and just as the man left, the rain started falling in earnest. He shifted to avoid the drizzle, and that was when he felt a hot sensation in his eyes. He instinctively wiped them with his hands, and when he looked at his palms, they were bloody. He felt something dripping from his eyes; he covered them again and stifled a gasp. His hand was covered in blood.

A Legacy of Blood

His name is Alan. Skinny with red eyes, his hair dark with a few patches missing. He has mismatched ears, and when he was born, his mom had screamed. His dad had left them, yelling, "That is not my kid, and I can't be associated with you or him!"

He ran home through the rain, ignoring the man calling after him. He ran as his eyes wept blood; he could see only red, taste only red. When he reached home, he threw himself at his mom and showed her what was happening. She just sighed and said, "So it begins."

He was still a kid and didn't know what she meant. He was confused, but his mom made sure he was okay. That was twenty years ago.

The Search for the Witch

Now thirty, he sat in his room waiting for the rain to stop. He had learned that every time it rained, he wept blood. He was told it was a curse that needed to be lifted, or he would be like this forever. He hated the rainy season because it made him look like a beast.

Alan stood up as the rain eased. He went to the bathroom to wash his face and remove every trace of blood. He had heard of a witch and had been preparing to visit her before the rain started. He sighed as he returned to his bedroom and looked at the picture of his mom and grandfather framed on the wall.

"What have you done to me?" he questioned them silently. "I've been cursed with something I knew nothing about. How can I suffer for something I wasn't part of? How could you let me take on the curse of your actions?"

He shook his head, knowing he would get no answer until he met the witch.

A Whispered Lead

He had met many people, but they were all scammers trying to fleece others of their hard-earned money. Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, he had even argued with his mom and grandfather for staying silent about his condition.

He was in a rundown backyard bar where all manner of things took place when he overheard a couple talking. When he caught the word "witch," his curiosity spiked.

"Seth, cut it. I'm not interested in a witch. My problem is medical, not spiritual," the woman said.

"Hush, my love. Don't let us fight over it. I know, but we need to explore other means."

"And a witch is what you suggest?"

"I heard she is powerful," Seth said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. But he need not have bothered; everyone there was lost in their own troubles.

"Just like the others who cashed out from you?"

"This is different," Seth said. "Listen, Mary, I promise: if you don't get any solution, I won't trouble you about a witch again, and we'll focus on the doctors."

"Let this be the last time, Seth. Please."

"Sure, babe."

"How do we contact her?"

"I was told to sprinkle my blood three times when it rains and call the name BlackEye three times, and a mist will lead us to the witch."

The Ritual of the Mist

That made Alan pause. This was exactly what he had been looking for. As the rain started again, he did what the man described, using the fluid from his weeping eyes. Now he waited for that damn mist—or was it just a trick by some wicked soul? He hoped he wasn't wasting his time.

The Voice in the Dark

He was about to give up when the air grew cold. His room darkened until he could see nothing, and then a sweet voice spoke from the darkness: "Why do you seek me, cursed one? Your blood reeks of a curse."

"Are you the witch?" Alan asked, standing up from his chair and looking around, but he could see nothing.

"What a fool, too," the voice said. "You seek me, and here I come, yet you question me?" The voice sighed. "Seems I made a mistake."

"Wait! Please don't go. I'm sorry," Alan said, bowing.

There was a low chuckle, and Alan gritted his teeth.

"Why do you seek me, cursed one?"

"I need your help to lift the curse. It has ruined my life."

"What if I tell you your curse is sustaining a life? Will you still want to remove it?"

"What! I don't understand," Alan said. He felt the cold creeping into his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"A curse was placed on you so another could live. Are you still willing to remove it?"

He was silent. He had nothing to say. He sat down and wondered why his parents would do such a thing to him.

"So if I remove the curse, a life will be lost?" he asked.

"Yes. Two lives will be lost."

"Who and who?" he asked.

"That is not my place to tell. Ask your family. If you still want to remove the curse, you know how to reach me."

With a laugh, the voice vanished and the cold lifted. He breathed hard, then came to a resolution. "I need to know my story. This calls for a trip back home."

"

The Weight of the Truth

Alan cried that night as he slept. It was a harsh truth the voice had said to him, and he wondered what was behind the story—that his curse and suffering were sustaining a life. Did he have the mind to end it all? Did he have the mind to take a life? Will his conscience let him be?

It was a sad night for him as he lay down on his bed, unable to sleep as the rain started again. It would be a hard night because when the blood dried in his eyes, he always found it difficult to open them.

The Journey Home

Dawn found him heading to the bus station to take a ride back home; he needed to find out the truth this time no matter the cost. He wanted his suffering to end. He sat in his seat, enjoying the morning cold wind as he closed his eyes under the dark spectacles he always wears.

He looked at the landscape as the bus sped by and marveled at how beautiful the green fields and the rolling hills were under the rays of the morning sun. He estimated it to be a twelve-hour ride and he used that moment to take a nap; he never slept well at night due to the rain.

A Dreaded Revelation

Clarion was sad when she received her son Alan’s call that morning, informing her that he was coming and he needed answers. He had told her that he would take no for an answer; she had feared this, as he had been insistent about it.

The Arrival of Graham Bent

She sighed as she sat down, waiting for her father to come. She had called him and told him about Alan, and he had promised to be there before he reached. Her father, Graham Bent, is pushing seventy, and no one would believe it because he looks like a forty-year-old man—strong and built like a bull. There is hardly any gray hair on him, and he had that air of knowing something before it happened.

A Familiar Signal

She sighed as the door chime signaled the arrival of her father. He had a habit of making the bell sound in a particular way, different from others; whenever she asked him how he did it, he would just smile and say, "Old age with experience."