Once Evil

Far in the shadowy heart of Transylvania, there lay a secluded village, shrouded in whispers of ancient curses. For centuries, tales of blood-sucking monsters plagued the locals. People vanished without a trace, and the carcasses of livestock were discovered, drained and lifeless. Yet, despite the rumors, the truth behind the horrors remained elusive.

That was until ten decades ago.

One fateful night, a wildfire consumed the royal family’s castle perched atop the hill. The villagers watched in terror as flames devoured the grand estate. The night grew unnaturally dark—so black it swallowed the stars—and the river below turned crimson, thick like blood. The animals wailed, their cries echoing through the trembling village. By morning, the castle was nothing but ash, and the royal family was gone. From that day forward, the disappearances ceased.

The village returned to an uneasy silence.

But peace was fleeting.

It began subtly—a flicker of movement, shadows darting across the ruins of the castle. Guards stationed at what was now a museum reported strange happenings. Figures were seen wandering the burned halls late at night, lingering near scorched paintings. But every time they approached, the shadows would vanish into thin air.

One night, however, a guard encountered something—or someone—he could not explain.

“Excuse me, sir… you’re not supposed to be here,” the guard called out, his voice breaking the suffocating silence of the long hall. He had spotted a lone figure staring at the far wall, motionless and unsettling.

The man did not respond.

Summoning his courage, the guard stepped closer. “The museum doesn’t open until 10 AM,” he repeated.

Finally, the figure turned.

The pale man’s eyes glowed an unholy red. His skin was deathly white, his black hair framing a face that wore a crooked, devious smile. He exuded an aura so menacing it made the guard’s stomach churn.

“You look nervous,” the man said, his voice smooth but icy. “Walk with me.”

Against every instinct screaming at him to run, the guard found his legs moving involuntarily, following the man down the dim corridor.

“This place hasn’t changed much,” the stranger mused, his tone almost nostalgic. “Once, it was a courtroom. My family lived here… We laughed, feasted, and, of course, held executions. You’re standing right where the condemned used to bleed.”

The guard, trembling, dared to glance down.

“Everything ends,” the man whispered suddenly, his breath cold against the guard’s ear. “Your world is ending. We fell, but we shall rise again. The end is nigh.”

The guard froze. His body refused to obey him, paralyzed by an invisible force. The man’s voice, low and venomous, pierced the stillness. “Don’t make a mess,” he said with a smirk before vanishing into the shadows.

As the guard struggled to regain control of his body, growls echoed from the darkness. His scream pierced the night, shaking the very walls of the castle.

A Peaceful Facade

Vatican City, Europe

Far removed from the shadowed forests of Transylvania, the Sanders family lived a tranquil life—or so it seemed. In a cozy villa nestled on the outskirts of the holy city, Clara Sanders was busy preparing for the village festival, a day meant for joy and celebration. Yet something heavy lingered in the air, an unease she couldn’t shake.

The doorbell rang.

“Coming!” shouted Riley, Clara’s precocious daughter, who darted to the door with the enthusiasm only a child could muster. Riley opened it to find a tall, elegant woman standing there, dressed in stylish black shades and casual clothes.

“Aunt Kelly!” Riley squealed, leaping into her arms.

“How’s my little sweetheart?” Kelly asked, lifting Riley effortlessly before stepping into the house.

“Mom! Kelly’s here!” Riley called as she ran off to fetch her mother.

Clara descended the stairs with a baby cradled in her arms. Her smile widened at the sight of her best friend. “Kelly! I’m so glad you could make it.”

Kelly placed Riley down and hugged Evelyn. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world! Are you ready for the big festival?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Clara replied, though her smile faltered for a brief moment.

“Perfect! Let’s get going!” Kelly said cheerfully.

Evelyn hesitated, glancing at her baby boy, Sam, then at her husband, Oliver, who was still asleep upstairs. “You go on ahead with the kids. I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright, but don’t take too long! Let’s go, Riley! And you too, little Sammy!” Kelly left with the kids, leaving Clara to face the simmering frustration she’d been hiding all morning.

---

The Secret Surprise

Evelyn returned to her room and shook Oliver gently. “Wake up, Oliver. The festival’s about to start.”

He groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter. “You go ahead. I’m not feeling up to it.”

Fury bubbled under Evelyn ’s composed exterior. “Fine,” she snapped, storming out of the room.

As soon as he heard the front door close and the car pull away, Oliver smirked. His plan was working perfectly. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his phone, and texted Kelly:

“Thank you for helping me.”

A response came quickly: “I wish I had a husband like you, Oliver.”

Today was their wedding anniversary, and Oliver had planned a surprise dinner for Evelyn. The festival was just a decoy to keep her and the kids out of the house.

For the rest of the day, Oliver cleaned, decorated, and cooked. By evening, the table was set with candles and a lavish spread, ready to melt Evelyn 's frustrations into joy.

The clock struck 8 PM. The doorbell rang.

Oliver adjusted his tie, a proud grin on his face. He opened the door, ready to welcome Evelyn with open arms.

But no one was there.

Frowning, he stepped outside and looked around. “Evelyn? Riley?”

The street was empty, bathed in the golden glow of the streetlights. Puzzled, Oliver stepped back inside and shut the door.

Bang.

ThE sound came from upstairs.

Oliver froze, his heart racing. He grabbed a nearby lamp for protection and crept up the stairs. The house was silent, save for the faint creak of floorboards.

As he reached the landing, a shadow flickered across the hallway.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice trembling.

Before he could react, three men emerged from the darkness, their faces obscured by ski masks. In unison, they moved toward him, silent as specters.

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. He swung the lamp, but one of the intruders caught it mid-air and yanked it from his grip. Another man struck him across the temple with a baseball bat.

Oliver crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him as he fought to stay conscious. He tried to crawl, but a heavy boot pinned him down. The world blurred as darkness consumed him.

Oliver's muffled screams filled the dimly lit basement, echoing off the stone walls. The three men circled him like predators savoring their prey. Tied to a chair, Oliver's face was already swollen from relentless blows. Blood dripped from a gash above his brow, pooling at his feet.

One by one, they took turns pummeling him, each strike fueled by sadistic delight. Minutes stretched into an eternity as their assault continued, leaving Oliver barely conscious. For the final blow, the leader of the group towering figure with a scar across his cheek lifted a heavy bat. With one brutal swing, he shattered Oliver's nose. The impact was deafening, and Oliver slumped forward, motionless.

Back at the Castle

A servant, cloaked in black, approached silently. He collected the blood flowing from an old barrel into a crystal goblet, careful not to spill a single drop. The servant placed the goblet on an ornate silver tray and carried it through the sprawling halls of a castle.

This was no ordinary castle. Its Gothic spires loomed ominously over the mist-shrouded hills of Transylvania. Recently reclaimed by its ancient rulers, it was once again home to horrors that defied human imagination: the undead, blood-sucking fiends, and creatures from humanity's darkest nightmares. Villagers nearby had either fled or fallen prey to the monsters now ruling the land.

The servant entered the grand hall, now transformed into a sinister courtroom. At its center sat Count Dracula, resplendent in a black cloak embroidered with crimson thread. His

pale skin seemed almost luminous under the flickering light of the chandeliers. Beside him stood two beings disguised as humans.

One was a towering, grizzled man with an eyepatch covering his left eye- Cyclops, the mythical one-eyed giant. The other was an enchanting woman with dark eyes and golden hair. Her beauty was as beguiling as it was deadly; this was Baba Yaga, the

inInfamoushild-devouring witch.

Dracula raised his goblet in a toast.

"Rest assured, my friends, soon the world will tremble beneath our rule. This time, with your support, no hunter, no guardian, no council will stand in our way."

Cyclops and Baba Yaga cheered, their sinister laughter filling the room. The servant approached and bowed, offering the goblet. Dracula took it with a flourish, sipping the blood as if it were the finest wine.

But Cyclops's single eye narrowed, his gaze fixed on Dracula's hand.

"Where is your father's ring?" he asked.

The room fell silent. Dracula lowered the goblet, his red eyes flashing with barely restrained fury.

"I don't need a ring to conquer this world," he replied,

his voice cold and deliberate.

Cyclops smirked.

"The armies you wish to command obey only the ring. Without it, you have no power over them."

Dracula's grip on the goblet tightened. The air grew thick with tension as the two locked eyes, neither willing to back down. Finally, Baba Yaga intervened, her voice silky yet firm.

"I'm sure our lord has the ring. He simply hasn't revealed it yet. Right, my lord?"

Dracula hesitated but nodded.

"Yes, of Course. The ring is mine."

Cyclops chuckled mockingly.

"Very well. With your permission, Dark Lord, I shall take my leave."

His tone dripped with sarcasm as he exited, not bothering to wait for a response.

Dracula turned to the window, his fists clenched. The full moon bathed the sea below in silver light, the waves

shimmering like liquid diamonds. Baba Yaga joined him, her presence a quiet

reassurance.

"What troubles you, my lord?" she asked softly.



"When my father died,"

Dracula began, his voice heavy with bitterness,

"he entrusted the ring to my brother, deeming him the rightful ruler. But my brother betrayed us. He fell for a filthy human, defied our kind, and turned against us all. And what did she do in return? She stabbed him in the back and stole his corpse, along with the ring. His treachery destroyed him and robbed me of my birthright."

He lifted the goblet again but spat its contents out in disgust.

"Ugh! It's cold." With a swift motion, he hurled the

goblet out of the window. Its crimson contents splattered onto the rocks below.

Back at Oliver's house, Oliver groaned, his consciousness returning in

agonizing waves. He struggled against his bonds, but they held fast. Blood dripped from his mutilated face onto the floor. Across the room, the three masked men rifled through his belongings, looting whatever they could carry.

One of them noticed Oliver's wedding ring.

"I'll take that," he muttered, kneeling beside him.

The ring wouldn't budge. Frustrated, the man pulled out a jagged dagger with a blackened blade and pressed it against Oliver's finger. In one swift motion, he severed the digit.

"AHHHHHHH!" Oliver's scream tore

through the night like a thunderclap. The house seemed to tremble in

response, its walls groaning and lights. Flickering. Outside, bats erupted into the sky, their cries piercing the wind. A fierce gale swept through the town, rattling windows and shaking trees.

In the castle, Dracula froze. A wild, electric sensation Coursed through his veins. He stared out at the sea, his crimson eyes wide with recognition. Slowly, a wicked smile spread across his face.

"Welcome back, brother," he whispered.

The scream echoed through the room like a distant wail, then faded into nothingness. The wind stilled, the bats outside fell silent, and the

once-clouded sky cleared to an unnatural, eerie calm. It was so quiet that the masked man felt as though

he'd gone deaf. The stillness pressed against him, thick and suffocating, until nausea clawed its way into his Stomach.

Then, a sound shattered the silence-a soft, rhythmic drip. He turned toward it, his heart pounding. Blood. Dark red droplets fell from the severed finger of the man bound to the chair. Oliver. Motionless, his head slumped forward, his body unnervingly still. The slow, deliberate dripping of blood onto the cold floor was the only sound, and it crawled under the thug's skin, filling him with unease.

A chill crept through the room, raising goosebumps along his arms. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Oliver, as though some unseen force had rooted him in place. The thug stood there, paralyzed by terror, his thoughts spiraling. Then, without warning, a hand clapped his shoulder.



He flinched, whipping around with a strangled gasp, only to find one of his men standing behind him.

"What was all that noise?" the man asked, frowning. "And where's that guy?"

The question confused him. "What do you mean? He's right here," the thug replied, turning back toward the chair.

But the words died in his throat.

The chair was empty. Blood still pooled beneath it, the ropes lay shredded, but Oliver was gone.

"What the hell?" he whispered, his voice trembling.



His partner frowned. "Where is he?"

The thug stared at the empty chair, his mind unraveling. His breathing quickened, and the edges of his vision blurred as panic took hold. Before he could respond, a bloodcurdling scream erupted from upstairs.

Without hesitation, the larger thug bolted toward the stairs, his smaller companion scrambling after him. They reached the top and froze.

A crimson river spilled out from beneath the door to one of the rooms.

The metallic scent of blood was overpowering, and as they edged closer, they heard the wet, sickening sounds of tearing flesh.



The big thug hesitated, dread pooling in his chest. But something compelled

him forward. Slowly, he pushed the door open.

What he saw stole the air from his lungs.

Oliver crouched over the lifeless body of one of their partners, his face buried. In the man's torn abdomen. His hands gleamed with blood as he ripped into the corpse, devouring its innards like a ravenous beast.

The thug's stomach churned. He stumbled back, shaking, his mind

unable to process the horrific scene before him.

"W-we need to" he began, but a

Scream cut him off.

The smaller thug, having caught up, had

seen it too. He screamed with

everything he had, the sound reverberating through the house.

Oliver stopped.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes-pitch black and soulless-locked onto theirs. His mouth twisted into a bloodied grin, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Shreds of flesh hung from his lips, falling in thick chunks to the floor.

The two men stood frozen, paralyzed by Oliver's inhuman gaze. He tilted his

head, his smile widening. It wasn't the smile of a man. It was the smile of a predator savoring his prey.

Hours later, the front door creaked

open.

"Honey, we're home!"

Oliver's wife called out, her voice echoing in the stillness. She stepped inside with their two children, balancing a bag of groceries. Her brow furrowed.

Something felt wrong.

The house was too quiet. Too clean. Not a speck of dust, not a single thing out of place. It was as if no one had

been home at all, let alone a place that had hosted unspeakable violence just hours before.

"Mom, where's Daddy?" Riley, her daughter, asked, clutching her hand.

"I...I don't know," she admitted. Her voice wavered, unease growing in the pit of her stomach.

She put the children to bed, her mind racing. Where was Oliver? Why hadn't he left a message? The eerie calm of the house only deepened her anxiety.

As she wandered the living room, her gaze fell on a picture frame sitting on the table. It was empty. The photo that had been there-of her and Oliver on their wedding day-was gone.

She sank into a chair, crossing her hands over her heart. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Wherever you

are...please be alright."

But she didn't know the truth.

Her husband hadn't disappeared. He had returned to the thing he once was.