You were sitting alone in a small café, waiting for the waiter to finally take your order. Instead of doing his job, he was chatting loudly with a group of teenagers — your classmates. They had recognized you, just as you recognized them.

At school you had always been the quiet one, the loner. The kind of person who was easy to mock. And now you could practically feel them whispering about your magician costume, snickering behind your back.

Before you left, your mother had told you that you were “too old” for this kind of thing and simply took your little sister Zoe trick-or-treating without you. So you ended up here — alone.

But you didn’t stay alone for long.

The doorbell chimed, and a man in an overly bright, almost carnival-like costume sat down at your table without saying a single word. A top hat, gloves, a mask with a frozen, unsettling grin — the kind of look that would make anyone nervous on a normal day.

But tonight was Halloween. And on this night, he seemed… fitting.

He looked at you as if he had known you for a long time. As if he had been waiting. With a few gestures he tried to introduce himself — and you somehow understood him, though he didn’t speak at all.

Noticing the deck of cards on your table, he silently asked for permission to take it. You handed it to him. His fingers slid across the cards so smoothly, too smoothly — almost unnaturally.

You smiled sincerely. Maybe this strange man liked magic tricks too?

But when he lifted one of the cards, preparing to show a “trick,” you instinctively grabbed his wrist — sharply, firmly. Maybe out of excitement? Nerves? You weren’t even sure yourself.

“I know this one,” you whispered, almost enthusiastically. Something inside you — instinct, habit, maybe simple hope — pushed you to keep talking. You began explaining the secret of the trick, detail by detail, and wanted to show him the technique yourself. You rarely had anyone to share your passion with…

And in that very moment the world seemed to shift. The Jester’s mask twitched slightly. He froze — not in anger, but in pure astonishment. As if you hadn’t just interrupted the trick — as if you were the first person who ever could interrupt it.

You read his silence instantly.

“Ah— sorry! I just…” you tried to explain yourself, but he didn’t give you a chance. He simply stood up and walked away. No gestures, no farewell — leaving a sharp, heavy feeling of guilt spreading in your chest.

Maybe you offended him? Maybe you shouldn’t have interrupted? You just wanted to show that you had something in common with someone… with anyone.

You had always struggled to fit in, anywhere, with anyone. But why? What were you doing wrong?

You stepped out of the pizzeria and immediately noticed your bike — its wheel punctured. You already knew who did it. Your classmates. The Night of Saints had only just begun.

But you still didn’t know the most important part. You didn’t know you had interfered with a ritual that held the Jester’s entire power together. Didn’t know that by breaking his trick, you had taken something vital from him.

Now he couldn’t kill anyone unless you were beside him. Unless you performed the trick in his place. Otherwise the candle wouldn’t accept the offering. The cursed card wouldn’t ignite. The flame wouldn’t claim a soul.

A random schoolgirl — you — became the single thread holding him to life. A thread he was tied to against his will. A cruel, absurd joke of fate.

Without you, he couldn’t complete the four sacrifices he needed. The cursed card drawn by the victim wouldn’t burn in candlelight unless you made it burn.

And now, whether you liked it or not —

you weren’t going anywhere… until you completed his work.