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 humans, and yet he is human—or so he thought—but his mom wouldn't say anything concerning his origin.

It had 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 and had red eyes that no one was able to keep eye contact with for more than a few seconds. That day, as he walked, he felt the weather changing. It was sunny as he left home, but after a few blocks, the weather started growing darker and the wind picked up. He saw people around him hurrying toward their homes and others closing shutters, but he trudged on, not wanting to be late.

Very soon, he couldn't bear the wind again as it started peppering him with small pebbles of stone. A man who was hurrying home just by the corner called out to him, "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 is too dangerous."

"I will manage, sir."

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

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

He had thanked the man, and just as the man left, the rain started falling in earnest. He shifted a bit to distance himself from the drizzle, and that was when he felt a hot sensation in his eyes. He instinctively used his hands to wipe his eyes, and when he looked at his palms, they were bloody. He felt something dripping from his eyes; he put his hand over 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 is 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 had run home under the rain, not caring how the man called after him. He ran as his eyes wept blood; he could see only red, he could taste only red. When he reached home, he threw himself at his mom and showed her what was going on. She had 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 had made sure he was okay. That was twenty years ago.

The Search for the Witch

Now that he is thirty, he sat in his room waiting for the rain to stop. He had come to find out that every time it rains, he weeps blood. He was told it is a curse that needs to be lifted, or he would be like that forever. He hates the rainy season because it makes him look like a beast.

Alan stood up as the rain stopped. He went to the bathroom to wash his face and remove every trace of blood. He had heard of a witch, and he was preparing to visit her before the rain started. He sighed as he made his way to his bedroom and looked at the picture of his mom and grandfather in the frame on his wall.

"What have you done to me?" he questioned them silently. "I have been cursed with what I knew nothing about. How can I be suffering from something that I wasn't part of? How can you let me take the curse of your action?"

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

A Whispered Lead

He had met many people, but it turned out they were all scammers trying to fleece people of their hard-earned money. He had grown frustrated, not knowing what to do. He had even had a row with his mom and grandfather because they had kept mute about his situation, which frustrated him so much.

He was in a rundown backyard bar where all manner of things take place when he heard a couple talking. When he heard the word "witch," it piqued his curiosity.

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

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

"And a witch is what you suggested?"

"I heard she is powerful," Seth said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. But he need not bother; everyone there was facing their own sins.

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

"This is different," Seth said. "Listen, Mary, I promise you this: if you don't get any solution, I will not trouble you about a witch again and we will 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 had made Alan pause. He thought this was exactly what he was looking for. As the rain started, he had done what the man said, using the fluid from his weeping eyes. Now, he is waiting for that damn mist—or was it just a gag by a wicked soul? He just hoped he wasn't wasting his time.

The Voice in the Dark

He was just about to call it a day when he felt the air grow cold. His room darkened so much that he couldn't see anything, and then a sweet voice said out of 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, and you are questioning me?" The voice sighed. "Seems like I made a mistake."

"Wait! Please don't go. I'm sorry," Alan said with a bow.

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 could feel the cold creeping into his lungs, and he had a difficult time breathing.

"A curse was placed on you for another to live. Are you still willing to remove the curse?"

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, and if you still want to remove it, you know how to get to me."

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