The Red Death had long devastated the country. No pestilence or horror had ever been so fatal or so hideous. Blood was its avatar and its seal, the redness and the horror of blood. So begins Edgar Allan Poe's 1850 short story, "The Mask of the Red Death," which

tells the story of a ruler who tries to conquer death by inviting a thousand of his healthy friends to join him in his abbey, locked away from the outside world. Prince Prospero's abbey is described as an extensive and magnificent structure with strong walls

and gates of iron. The serfs bring furnaces and hammers and, upon entering, weld the bolts such that no one can enter or exit. The prince provides food and pleasure inside. All these and security were within. Without was the Red Death. After five or six months, Prospero

holds a grand masked ball in the seven rooms of an imperial suite, which are segregated by sharp turns. Gothic stained glass windows on each side of the room look out into the surrounding corridor. Each room features a different color, which matches the color of the window. The first room is

blue, the second purple, the third green, the fourth orange, the fifth white, and the sixth violet. Opposite each window in the corridor outside the room was a brazier of fire whose light shines through the stained glass windows. In the seventh room, however, while the dominant color is black, the

windows are a scarlet red. Here, the light from the fire creates such a ghastly effect that most of the guests avoid the room altogether. Moreover, a giant ebony clock's pendulum swings ominously at the revelers, causing everyone to pause in

Fright when the hourly chimes cease the musicians and masqueraders returned to their celebration with laughter and renewed ease. When the clock strikes midnight, the revelers in their masks notice a figure among them, tall and gaunt and shrouded

from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask appeared like the face of a corpse, but most frighteningly of all, the figure's clothing was dabbled in blood and his face sprinkled with scarlet. He had taken on the appearance

of the Red Death. Prospero in the blue room is enraged by this presence, screaming to his courtiers, "Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery?" and demands that he be seized and unmasked so they can hang him in the

morning. The figure stalks slowly and steadily through the apartments, and no one attempts to apprehend him. Suddenly, Prospero rushes through all six rooms, approaching the figure with a dagger held high. The dagger falls to the carpet, however, in the black room, and Prospero

falls to the ground dead. Suddenly, the masqueraders rush the figure of the Red Death, but find no form beneath his exterior. They now understand the figure is the Red Death itself. One by one, each reveler dies. The clock goes out, and the fires

The Masque of the Red Death - Short Story Summary

The Masque of the Red Death - Short Story Summary