Tales of Terror by Les Martin

A terrible sickness spread over the land. It was called the Red Death. Red is the color of blood. Blood oozing through every pore of the skin. That was the sign of the sickness and the seal of death.
    All who caught it died within a half hour. But first they felt horrible pain and grew dizzy. Then they were stained red with their own blood.
    With the Red Death came fear. No one was safe from the Death. And no one was safe from the fear.
    No one, that is, except one man.
    The great Prince Prospero ruled the land. He was the strongest of the strong. The bravest of the brave. The richest of the rich. The Red Death was mighty, but not as mighty as Prince Prospero. Fear might rule others, but not a ruler like him.
    Let the Red Death rage everywhere. Let it turn farms into graveyards. Let it litter city streets with corpses. Let it slay workers at work, children in school. It could not touch Prince Prospero or those he chose to save.
    Prince Prospero had many castles. But one was his favorite by far. He himself had drawn its plans. He had made sure thebuilders followed them. The castle was perfect down to the last detail. It was like a mirror of the prince’s mind. It reflected everything he desired.
    The prince now went to this castle. With him came the flower of his royal court. The boldest knights. The most beautiful ladies. Musicians, ballet dancers, jugglers, and clowns to amuse them. And servants to care for their every want and need.
    All told, a thousand people came with Prospero. The castle was more than large enough for them. And easily able to feed them. Storerooms held food for years of feasting. Trees in the gardens bore fruit for every season. A spring brought fresh water from deep in the earth. Vast cellars were filled with the finest wines.
    A wall around the castle stood aboveall. The highest, thickest wall that could be built.
    Only one door led through this wall. A door of solid iron. The door was locked as soon as the prince and his followers entered. But he was not satisfied with even this. He ordered it sealed shut. Sealed with molten metal. It hardened in an hour. The door was airtight.
    No one could enter the castle now. No matter how desperate to escape the Red Death. And no one could leave. Not even anyone insane enough to risk it.
    The people inside the castle had no choice. They could only enjoy themselves all day and night.
    The people outside had no choice either. They could only wait for the Red Death to strike at any time.
    All those lucky people inside the castle hailed the prince. He had won out over the Red Death. Here in his castle they would live until the Red Death died out. Then the whole land would be theirs. Theirs alone.
    But Prince Prospero could not rest long on his victory. In a few months he faced a new enemy. An enemy within his castle and within his very being. An enemy he had to overcome.
    Boredom.
    It grew stronger with every passing day. Every week. Every month.
    Boredom attacked the prince. It attacked his followers. The most delicious food tasted stale. The rarest wines seemed sour. Clowns drew groans. Jugglers drew yawns.
    Finally, Prince Prospero gathered his followers before him.
    “I invite you to a party,” he said. “A celebration. We have been in the castle six months now. Six months of safety. Six months of pleasure. The best six months of our lives. So I want to make this the best party ever.”
    The party would be a masque, the prince told them. A masked ball—with everyone in costumes. Anyone could come as anything. And could do anything. At this party anything went. The wilder the better.
    And there would be a special treat. The masque would be in Prospero’s private rooms. Only trusted servants had seen them before. Now everyone would enjoy them.
    There was no boredom in the castle that week. Brains and fingers worked overtime to create strange costumes. Tongues wagged about what Prospero’s private rooms were like. The great prince had designed them himself.