Page 1 of Summoned
Prologue
The air in the attic hung heavy, saturated with the musty smell of long-forgotten items. The flickering flame of a single candle cast restless shadows on the wooden beams above.
Nicole kneeled on the creaking floorboards. Her trembling hands rearranged the ritual items with precision: a pile of chocolates, a rusted knife, and a porcelain doll with a missing eye.
“Are you sure about this?” Daria’s voice cut through the silence. Perched on a dusty trunk, her best friend swung her legs back and forth. In the candlelight, her dark hair took on a reddish hue, almost like dried blood. A detail Nicole read as a good omen.
“I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t.” The strain coating Nicole’s words w as far too intense for a ten-year-old, but then again, what she was about to do wasn’t child’s play. It wasn’t a mere game.It couldn’t be!
Daria let out a soft chuckle, as if to mask her own discomfort. If anyone believed in ghosts and fairies, it was her. Yet today, she seemed on edge for no clear reason. “Oh, come on! The Black Joker is just a made-up story some girl heard from her crazy Italian grandma. And he sounds mean, by the way. If he really exists, I don’t think I want to face him.”
“He wasn’t always like that.” Nicole stared at the doll. “Before the curse, he was different. He made everyone laugh. Even the grumpiest people in the kingdom.”
Daria snorted. “So what? Some witch got annoyed because he was too funny?”
“No… He played a trick on the wrong person. The witch cursed him and turned him into a shadow of what he used to be. Since then, he still grants wishes… but each one comes with a price.”
Her words lingered in the heavy air, settling like a curse of their own.
“I’m not sure about this, Niki…”
“So why’d you even come, then?”
Daria shrugged, her subtle smile resurfacing. “Because it sounded cool. And also to make sure you don’t summon something far worse.”
Nicole wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Her fingers clenched around the knife’s hilt, and she pricked her thumb. A bead of blood formed, shining dark in the flickering light. She hesitated for a second before letting the drop fall onto the doll’s cracked face. The sight of her own blood made her stomach turn, but she swallowed the nausea. Angelina, the girl who’d told her about the Black Joker, had been firm: the ritual required blood. ‘Blood as a bond, sugar as an offering, a doll as a symbol, words as a vow.’
A shadow of doubt flickered across Daria’s face, soon replaced by curiosity. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Nicole lied.
Daria observed her for a moment, then held out her hand with her palm up. “Do it fast!”
Nicole pricked her friend’s finger. Daria gasped, but didn’t have time to protest before Nicole pressed the bloodied fingertip to the doll. Their blood mingled, the two streaks of crimson glistening for a brief second, then soaking into the porcelain.
Nicole placed the doll back in the chalk-drawn circle and recited the incantation from memory. “I summon you, Black Joker, Wanderer of Shadows, Whisper in the Abyss.Come forth from the darkness to hear my wish.”
Her first attempt was shaky, but it grew stronger with each repetition. The words felt foreign on her tongue, yet also strangely familiar. When Daria joined in, their voices merged into a steady rhythm.
At first, nothing happened. Then, the candlelight swayed with violence, scattering light in every direction. Twisted, monstrous shadows danced on the walls before settling back into their quiet flame. It might have been magic, but it could also have been a draft.
“See? Just a made-up story!” The hint of relief in Daria’s tone didn’t go unnoticed.
But the air was pressing against Nicole’s chest. Somethinghadshifted. An invisible weight had settled over the attic.
Her eyes darted around, searching for living shadows. She didn’t dare voice her thoughts, but the stillness itself felt wrong. It wasn’t the absence of sound—rather, the presence of something else. A silence sharp enough to slice through the mind. A silence that foretold nightmares.
Nicole rose to her feet. “Let’s go downstairs.” She hated admitting defeat, but every nerve in her body screamed to run.
“With pleasure!” Daria scrambled after her.
They extinguished the candle and hurried down the stairs. Behind them, the door slammed shut.
The attic fell once more into the forgotten oblivion of dust and echoes.
The doll remained on the floor, its single eye gleaming in the dark.
And in the quiet that followed, unseen threads spun an ancient curse.
