[adapted]

by
Edgar Allan Poe

The “Red Death” had been destroying the country for a long time. No disease had ever been so deadly or so terrible. It was a sickness of blood, and its redness brought horror. The disease caused sharp pain and sudden dizziness, followed by heavy bleeding from the skin—then, death.

The red marks on the body, especially on the face, showed that a person was infected. Anyone who had these scarlet stains was completely abandoned—no one would help them or even feel sorry for them. The entire sickness, from the first signs to death, took only half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was happy, fearless, and clever. When half of his kingdom had died, he gathered a thousand healthy and cheerful friends from the nobles of his court. Together, they hid away in a strong and well-protected abbey.

This large and beautiful building was designed by the prince himself, in his strange but impressive style. A high, strong wall surrounded the entire abbey. The gates were made of iron. Once the guests entered, they sealed the doors shut with heavy locks and metal bars. No one could come in or go out—not even if they panicked or lost their minds.

The abbey had plenty of food. With these precautions, the prince and his guests believed they could stay safe and ignore the disease. The outside world would have to take care of itself.

Meanwhile, it was foolish to feel sad or to think too much. The prince had prepared everything for pleasure. There were jesters, storytellers, ballet dancers, musicians, beautiful people, and wine. Inside, they had safety and entertainment. Outside, there was only the Red Death.

It was toward the end of the fifth or sixth month of their isolation, while the plague raged more fiercely than ever outside, that Prince Prospero held a grand masquerade ball for his thousand guests.

The party was luxurious and extravagant. But first, let me describe the rooms where it was held.

There were seven rooms, forming a royal suite. In most palaces, such rooms are arranged in a straight line, so that one can see through them all at once. But here, it was very different, as expected from the prince’s love for the strange and unusual. The rooms were arranged irregularly, so that one could only see a little bit of the next room at a time. Every twenty or thirty yards, there was a sharp turn, and at each turn, the decor changed.

In the middle of each wall, on both sides of every room, there were tall, narrow Gothic windows that looked out into a dark hallway. These windows were made of colored glass, and their colors matched the decorations of each room. The first room, at the eastern end, was blue, and its windows were bright blue. The second room was purple, and its windows were purple. The third was green, the fourth was orange, the fifth was white, and the sixth was violet, each with matching windows. The seventh and final room was covered in black velvet, which hung from the ceiling to the floor. Even the carpet was black. But in this last room, the windows were not black. Instead, they were deep red, the color of blood.

There were no lamps or candles inside any of the seven rooms. However, in the hallway outside, large iron stands held burning fires that shone through the colored glass windows, lighting up each room in bright, unusual colors. The effect was strange and dramatic, creating wild and dazzling patterns. But in the seventh room—the black one—the firelight shining through the deep red windows gave everything a terrifying glow. The red light on the black velvet made the faces of anyone who entered look ghostly and horrifying. Because of this, almost no one was brave enough to step inside.

In this last black room, against the western wall, stood a huge ebony clock. Its pendulum swung back and forth, making a dull, heavy, and slow sound. But when the minute hand completed its circle, and the hour arrived, the clock chimed loudly. The sound was clear, deep, and strangely musical, yet it had such a peculiar tone that every hour, the orchestra was forced to stop playing. The dancers had to pause, and for a moment, the entire joyful crowd seemed disturbed.

As the chimes continued, the most carefree guests suddenly looked pale, and the older, wiser ones would rub their foreheads, as if they were lost in deep thought. But when the sound finally faded, the guests laughed nervously, as if ashamed of their reaction. The musicians smiled at each other, whispering that the next time the clock struck, they would not let it affect them.

Yet, after another sixty minutes passed—after 3,600 more seconds of time rushing forward—the clock chimed again, and once more, the same uneasy feeling filled the room.

Despite this, the masquerade ball was joyful and extravagant. The duke’s tastes were unusual. He had a great sense of color and dramatic effect, but he ignored the rules of traditional fashion. His ideas were bold and wild, filled with a bright, exotic beauty. Some people might have thought he was mad, but his followers did not. To truly know that he was sane, one had to see, hear, and be near him.

Prince Prospero had personally designed much of the decorations in the seven rooms for this great celebration. His own artistic vision had also shaped the costumes of the guests. And what a sight they were!

The masqueraders looked strange and fantastic. There was bright color, sparkle, and wild imagination everywhere. Their costumes were mysterious, shocking, and unreal—just like something from Hernani. There were bizarre shapes, with limbs and outfits that didn’t match. Some of them looked like the mad visions of a lunatic. There was beauty, but also shamelessness. There was elegance, but also disturbing oddity. Some costumes were even frightening or disgusting.

Through the seven rooms, the masqueraders moved like living dreams. Their costumes twisted and swayed, taking on the colors of each room they passed through. Their movements made the wild music of the orchestra seem like the echo of their dancing feet.

But then—the clock chimed.

The great ebony clock in the black room rang out, and everything stopped. For a moment, all movement froze, and the room fell silent, except for the deep sound of the clock. The masqueraders stood stiff, like statues, caught in the middle of their dance.

Then, as the chimes faded, the guests laughed nervously, as if shaking off their fear. The music started again, and the dancers moved more wildly than before, their costumes glowing under the strange colored lights.

But no one dared enter the seventh room, the black chamber in the west. The night was passing, and the firelight behind the deep red windows made the room glow even darker and bloodier. The black velvet walls filled the guests with dread.

For those who stepped onto the black carpet, the chime of the great clock seemed to strike even louder, more solemn and heavy, as if warning them. But those who danced in the other rooms heard the chimes more softly, as if they were far away, and continued to enjoy the party.

The other six rooms were crowded with people, and the party was full of wild energy. The guests danced and celebrated without a care, and the night spun on in a whirl of music and movement.

Then, at midnight, the great clock began to chime. As always, the music stopped, the dancers froze, and for a moment, there was uneasy silence. But now, the clock struck twelve times—a longer pause, a heavier moment. Perhaps because of this, the thoughtful guests had more time to reflect, and a strange uneasiness crept into their minds.

And before the final echo of the last chime had faded, many people in the crowd suddenly noticed something unusual. A new figure had appeared among them—one that no one had seen before.

At first, a whisper spread through the guests, soft and uncertain. Then, the whispers turned to murmurs, and soon, the murmurs grew into gasps of shock, fear, and disgust. In a party full of strange and extravagant costumes, it took something truly shocking to cause such a reaction. Normally, at Prince Prospero’s masquerades, there were almost no limits to how bizarre or outrageous the costumes could be. But this new figure had gone too far—even for a night of mad celebration. Even the wildest guests, who treated life and death as a joke, felt that this costume had crossed a line.

The figure was tall and thin, dressed from head to toe in a burial shroud, like a corpse wrapped for the grave. The mask covering its face was so realistic that it perfectly resembled a dead man’s face, frozen in rigid stillness. Anyone looking closely would struggle to tell if it was a disguise or a real corpse. Even this might have been tolerated by the mad guests—if not welcomed as part of the eerie spectacle.

But this stranger had taken it even further. The figure had dressed as the Red Death itself. Its robes were covered in blood, and its face—beneath the lifeless mask—was splattered with red, as if marked by the horrible disease.

When Prince Prospero’s eyes fell upon this terrifying figure, he was overcome with emotion. The stranger moved slowly and seriously, walking back and forth among the dancers, making its ghastly appearance even more unsettling.

At first, the prince shuddered, as if struck by a wave of fear or disgust. But a moment later, his face turned red with anger.

“Who dares?” he demanded in a hoarse, furious voice, turning to the courtiers standing near him. “Who dares to insult us with this blasphemous joke? Seize him! Unmask him! Let us see who he is—so that we may hang him at sunrise from the castle walls!”

At that moment, Prince Prospero was standing in the first of the seven rooms—the blue chamber, in the east. His angry words echoed throughout all the rooms, reaching every guest, for he was a strong and fearless man, and the music had stopped at the wave of his commanding hand.

Prince Prospero stood in the blue room, surrounded by a group of pale and frightened courtiers. As he shouted in fury, some of the guests hesitated, as if they might move toward the mysterious intruder. The stranger, who was now very close, walked slowly and with purpose toward the prince.

But there was something terrifying about the masked figure. A nameless fear had spread through the room, freezing everyone in place. No one dared to stop him. Without any resistance, the stranger walked right past Prince Prospero, coming within a yard of him.

At the same time, as if guided by a single instinct, the entire crowd shrank away, moving to the walls of the room, avoiding the stranger’s path. He continued to walk forward, without changing his slow, solemn steps. He moved from the blue room into the purple one, from purple to green, from green to orange, then to white, and finally into the violet room. Still, no one had dared to stop him.

But then, Prince Prospero, overwhelmed by rage and shame at his own fear, suddenly rushed forward. He chased after the stranger, running through all six rooms. The other guests did not follow—they were frozen with terror.

The prince held a dagger, raising it high as he charged forward. He came within three or four feet of the masked figure, who had now reached the black velvet room at the end. Suddenly, the figure stopped and turned to face him. There was a sharp cry—and Prince Prospero’s dagger fell to the floor, shining against the black carpet.

A moment later, the prince himself collapsed, falling dead upon the same dark floor. Then, with a desperate surge of courage, the guests suddenly rushed into the black room. They grabbed the masked figure, who stood tall and unmoving in the shadow of the great ebony clock. But the moment they touched him, their horror became complete. There was nothing inside. The grave clothes and corpse-like mask that they seized so violently were empty.

Now, everyone understood the truth—the Red Death was here. It had entered the abbey like a thief in the night. One by one, the guests collapsed, falling in the blood-stained halls where they had once danced and celebrated. Each died in despair, frozen in the position where they had fallen. The great ebony clock—which had marked the passing of time—stopped ticking, as the last guest died. The flames of the torches went out, and darkness filled the rooms. Now, only silence remained. And Darkness, Decay, and the Red Death ruled over everything.