THE CURSED BLOOD

Blood never lies. In the dead of night, beneath a sky swallowed by storm clouds, a woman knelt in the center of a forgotten clearing. The earth was torn, the air thick with the scent of damp moss and something far darker-fear, sorrow, and ancient rage. Her hands trembled as she traced a symbol into the soil, red as fresh wounds. Around her, shadows writhed like living things, whispering names lost to time. She whispered back, voice cracked and desperate. "Forgive me." A sudden scream ripped through the woods-raw and full of pain.

The ground trembled, and the trees shuddered as if recoiling from a terrible force. The woman's eyes rolled back, and a terrible power surged through her veins. She was both the curse and the curse's keeper, bound forever to blood that could never be cleansed. The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was a pair of burning eyes-watching, waiting-for the bloodline to awaken once more.

Bloodlines Some wounds never heal-especially those soaked in blood. Anna Collins stood at the cracked edge of the driveway, staring up at the weathered house that had belonged to her grandmother. The sun was slipping behind the trees, throwing long shadows that clawed across the dead grass. The air felt thick and heavy, as if the house was holding its breath-waiting. Behind her, Luke, her younger brother, shifted impatiently. "Can we just get inside already? This place gives me the creeps." His voice was rough, but Anna heard the tremor beneath it. Luke was bold and stubborn, always masking his fears with bravado. But even he looked uneasy. Anna wiped her palms on her jeans, trying to shake the cold that wasn't from the autumn air. She hadn't wanted to come back to this town-never wanted to face the past. Yet here she was, drawn back by the sudden death of their grandmother, the woman who had raised them but kept secrets deeper than the earth. They stepped onto the porch. The floorboards creaked under their feet, as if warning them to turn back. The door hung crooked on rusty hinges. Anna's fingers brushed the chipped wood as she pushed it open. Inside, the house smelled of damp wood, old smoke, and something sour she couldn't place. Dust motes floated in the fading light from the windows. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper, peeling like dead skin. Silence filled the rooms-a silence that felt alive. "Where do we even start?" Luke's voice echoed. Anna nodded toward the hallway. "We find whatever we need, then get out." They moved through the house, their footsteps soft against the floor. Family photos hung crooked-faces smiling, frozen in happier times. Anna stopped before one. It was a picture of their grandmother, stern and proud, but her eyes held something cold, almost unreadable. "Do you think she left anything for us?" Luke asked quietly. Anna's breath hitched. "I don't know. But I have to find out." They entered the kitchen. On the counter sat a heavy wooden box tied with a faded red ribbon. Anna's heart hammered as she untied it, the knot loose like a secret begging to be told. Inside was a delicate necklace, its silver chain tangled and stained with dark, dried blood. A folded note lay beneath it. Anna unfolded the brittle paper, the words scrawled in shaky ink: "The curse is in the blood, but the blood chooses." She swallowed hard. The stories their grandmother had whispered late at night rushed back-tales of family curses, broken promises, and vengeance older than memory. Luke's uneasy voice broke the silence. "Curses are just stories, Anna." She looked at him, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "I want to believe that. But something about this place... it's different." Suddenly, a cold draft swept through the kitchen, rattling the windows. Anna shivered, pulling her jacket tighter. "Did you feel that?" Luke asked. Before she could answer, a sharp noise echoed from the basement door-a loud creak, as if someone-or something-had opened it. Luke froze. "The basement..." Anna's heart pounded. The basement was off-limits. Their grandmother had always warned them to stay away. Yet the door stood open now, black and yawning. Luke swallowed and looked at Anna. "You're going down there." She nodded slowly. "Someone has to." The stairs groaned beneath her feet as she descended into the darkness. The smell changed-damp earth and rot. Her flashlight barely cut through the black. At the bottom, the beam landed on strange symbols painted in red on the walls-circles, lines, and markings that twisted like veins. A sudden noise made her spin-the sound of something scraping against stone. "Luke?" Her voice was barely a whisper. No answer. Her light flickered and went out. Panic slammed into her chest. She fumbled with the flashlight, hands trembling, until a weak beam flickered back on. There, across the basement floor, was a figure crouched in shadow-its face hidden. Anna took a shaky step forward. "Who's there?" The figure didn't move. Then it raised its head, revealing eyes that gleamed with something unnatural-deep red, burning like coals. Anna gasped. The figure was not human. A voice hissed from the darkness, low and ancient: "The blood remembers." Before she could react, a cold hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, heart racing, as the basement seemed to close in around her. Far above, Luke pounded on the floorboards, shouting her name. But down here, in the dark, the curse was waking. The blood never forgets. And neither will they.