On the eve of Valentine's Day, Heber City lay cloaked in the quiet of the night. The wind whispered through the skeletal branches of bare trees, and an eerie stillness settled over the quaint mountain town.
Emma, a local florist, prided herself on crafting the most exquisite bouquets in town. Her shop, "Blooming Secrets," was a haven of color and fragrance. As she prepared for the Valentine's rush, she received a peculiar order—a request for crimson roses, tinged with black.
Intrigued, she worked late into the night, crafting the hauntingly beautiful arrangement. As she added the final touch, a chill crept down her spine. Emma dismissed it as fatigue and locked up the shop. Little did she know, her night was far from over.
As she walked home, the fog thickened, and the familiar streets twisted into a maze. From the shadows emerged a cloaked figure, face obscured, holding a single black rose. The figure's voice, raspy and cold, whispered, "Deliver the roses to the old mansion on Blackwood Hill."
Fear gnawed at Emma, but curiosity led her to the mansion—a decaying relic of a bygone era, shunned by locals and wrapped in dark legends. She knocked on the heavy door, which creaked open on its own. Inside, a dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
As she stepped inside, the door slammed shut. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and something else—something metallic. In the dim light, Emma saw them: portraits of forlorn lovers, their eyes hollow, mouths twisted in silent screams. Her heart pounded as she placed the roses on an ornate table.
A haunting melody played from an old gramophone, and the room seemed to come alive. The portraits moved, eyes following her every step. Suddenly, the figure reappeared, now without the cloak, revealing a gaunt face with eyes like bottomless pits.
"You've brought me my roses," the figure intoned. "Now, you must join them."
The roses in the bouquet turned crimson, dripping with blood. Emma tried to flee, but the figure reached out with icy hands. She felt her life slipping away, her screams swallowed by the walls.
The next morning, a passerby found "Blooming Secrets" eerily deserted. Inside, a bouquet of crimson roses sat on the counter, tinged with black, a single black rose lying beside them. Emma was never seen again, but the old mansion on Blackwood Hill seemed to radiate with a new, malevolent energy.
And every Valentine's Day since, the roses in Heber City bloom a deep, unsettling crimson, as if they remember the blood that was shed.
The End.
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