The Blood Moon: Doom Rewritten (Part 2)

The ground shook, and the book erupted in flames. Milli let out a bloodcurdling scream before collapsing. When the fire died down, the book was gone, reduced to ash. Milli lay unconscious, her body still. Her parents feared the worst, but then she stirred.

When Milli opened her eyes, her confusion was clear, but the caretaker’s face had already turned pale. Her trembling voice broke the silence, “What happened?” She couldn’t remember anything from the past month, not the drawings, not the rage, not the darkness that had consumed her. When her parents pressed her for answers, she hesitated before revealing the truth—her attempt at astral projection, the strange sensation of her soul floating free, and the shadow that had loomed over her.

The caretaker’s hands shook as he listened, his eyes darting to the shadows in the room as if expecting something to emerge. His voice, low and trembling, carried the weight of dread. “You did this during the blood moon?” he asked, his words almost a whisper. Milli nodded, not understanding the gravity of her actions.

The caretaker’s fear deepened. “The blood moon… the lunar eclipse… it’s not just a celestial event. It’s a time when the veil between our world and theirs is thin—too thin. It’s when the boundary that keeps them out weakens, and they can cross over. You opened a door, child. And something walked through.” His words hung in the air like a curse, each one heavier than the last. The caretaker’s eyes were wide, his breathing shallow, as if he could feel the presence of what had come through that door still lingering, watching, waiting. “You didn’t come back alone,” he said, his voice breaking.

The caretaker shared a chilling tale, his voice low and heavy with fear. It wasn’t a story, he said—it was a curse, one that hung over the land like a shadow, waiting to strike again.

“Long ago,” he began, “this place was a peaceful village, filled with happy people. They farmed the land, raised their cattle, and celebrated the simple joys of life. But happiness never lasts forever. One night, something dark came to their village. A demon. It didn’t roar or scream; it crept silently, unseen, but its presence was cold and heavy, like death itself.

At first, it fed on their animals. Every morning, the villagers woke to find their cattle dead, their bodies drained of life. The fields grew quiet. There were no songs, no laughter—only fear. The nights were the worst. The air would grow cold, and whispers filled the darkness, whispers that made people shake with dread. The villagers tried to ignore it, but the demon wasn’t done.

They couldn’t take it anymore. In their desperation, they prayed to a powerful being they had heard of from a wandering hermit—a demi-god, neither good nor evil. They believed it could help them if their prayers were strong enough. So they prayed day and night, offering whatever they could. They cried, begged, and sacrificed until the skies finally answered.

The demi-god appeared—not as a saviour, but as a shadow. Its form was terrifying, cloaked in dark-coloured fabrics and shining jewels, with no body beneath. The villagers stood frozen in fear, unable to move as the demi-god commanded the demon to appear. The presence of the demi-god was overwhelming, its immense power pressing down on the humans like an unseen weight. Yet, that same power was undeniable—strong enough to drag the demon from its hiding place and force it to bow at the demi-god’s feet.

No one knows what happened next. The night was filled with horrible sounds—roars, screams, and the earth trembling beneath their feet. When morning came, the demon was gone, but the village was not free. In the middle of the village stood a small black temple, crumbling and old as if it had been there for centuries. Inside the temple was a strange book made of stone, its pages burning with fire that never went out. The fire didn’t destroy it; it only burned endlessly, like the rage of the demon trapped inside.

The villagers thought they were safe, but the curse lingered. The temple cast a shadow over their lives. They felt its presence, its anger, and its hunger. Even though the demon couldn’t harm them anymore, it was always there, watching, waiting. People started leaving, too afraid to stay. The village became empty, and over time, the forest grew over it, hiding the temple and its terrible secret.”

The caretaker’s voice dropped even lower, his eyes darting to the shadows as he spoke his final words. “But curses don’t die. They wait. And now… it seems the demon has found its way back.”

The tale left a chilling silence in its wake. It wasn’t just a story. It felt like the land itself was alive, breathing and watching, carrying the pain of a curse that refused to be forgotten.