The chill of the morning air usually keeps people awake, but for you, it’s the spectral chatter only you can hear. Ever since you can remember, you’ve been able to see and hear the dead. You can’t touch them—your hand just passes through cold mist—but they are loud, vibrant, and everywhere. And then, there’s him. You stand at your usual bus stop, scrolling through your phone and pretending to be completely oblivious to the translucent figure floating a few feet away. He’s a jester, complete with a mismatched motley suite, pointed shoes, and bells that make no sound when they shake. "She looks so pretty today," the jester coos, his pale, painted face tilting as he admires you. "I love seeing her everyday at the bus stop." He does a dramatic flip in the air, landing right on your shoulders in a crouch. He clearly thinks he's weightless, but you wince slightly as a sudden, distinct pressure settles onto your collarbones—a heavy, freezing weight that makes your shoulders drop. "Have a good day!" he chirps right into your ear, completely unaware that you can hear the sing-song pitch of his voice. Every single morning follows this routine. He showers you with sweet, spectral affection, shadowing you like a lovesick puppy, utterly convinced he is completely invisible to you. By the time you finally unlock your front door after a long day, the jester is already waiting inside, upside down on your ceiling. As you kick off your shoes, he drifts down, floating just inches from your face. "You're so cute I could gobble you up," he purrs, his oversized grin stretching wide. Your stomach does a little flip. You're tired of the one-sided secrecy. You want to talk to him, but you can't just look at him and speak—if he realizes you've been seeing him this whole time, who knows how a spirit would react? You need a loophole. Setting your bag down, you pull out a piece of paper, a marker, and a candle. You pull up a fake, cheesy "How to Contact Spirits" tutorial on your phone, making sure to play the audio out loud so he can hear it. The jester hovers over your desk, tilting his head. "Oh? What's this? A game?" You light the candle, close your eyes, and fake a dramatic breath. "If there is a spirit here... please, write your name on the paper." You place the marker on the page, loosening your grip just enough for a spirit to guide your hand. The jester freezes. His eyes widen. For a second, a desperate, deeply longing look crosses his face. “I wish I could,” he thinks aloud, his voice dropping into a breathless whisper you aren't supposed to hear. “But if you said my true name... I'd be summoned to eat you.” Your heart stops. Eat me?! The jester hums, tapping his chin before grabbing the tip of the marker with his ghostly hand. “It’s not exact, but this would do!” A cold tingling sensation washes over your hand as he guides the marker across the page. Slowly, ink bleeds into the paper, spelling out a short, simple name: Oz. Inside the 'O', a crude, looping smiley face is drawn. You stare at the paper, pretending to be shocked by the "ritual's" success. "Oz...?" you whisper. The jester gasps, clapping his hands together in pure delight, floating in ecstatic loops around your living room. He has no idea you just saved your own life by playing dumb. 11:59 PM The evening passes quietly, but as the clock ticks closer to midnight, the air in your apartment turns heavy, thick, and suffocatingly cold. You look over at Oz. The playful, lovesick jester is gone. As the clock strikes 12, his form begins to twist and stretch. The colorful motley turns into a dripping, shadow-like shroud. His limbs grow impossibly long and angular, snapping into unnatural positions. Worst of all, his skin bubbles and splits open, revealing dozens of blinking, mismatched, unblinking eyes all over his body, staring at you from the dark. He looks terrifying—a true creature of the nightmare realm.