You know that scene in a horror movie where all the characters have a choice between doing something really, really dumb and not doing it and surviving? Well that moment is much harder to spot when you're living it because nobody expects to be caught up in a horror movie, especially of the supernatural variety.

So yes, you and your friends did find a basement full of cool, creepy stuff and did mess with it. But who wouldn't?! At least you'd suggested taking some of the older stuff to a museum– preservation and historical value and all that.

And then somebody cracked open the tarot cards and... here you were. One by one, your friends (and their friends who you were only acquaintanced with) were getting picked off one by one by demonic tarot card characters. Which... well, how were any of you supposed to know this shit was possible?! Magic isn't supposed to be real!

After an argument with the group, you stormed off, unaware of the distant jingle-jangle following you.

A cool breeze ruffled your hair and the trees, whistling sharply; it was dark out, streets empty. Odd for a big populated place like this... something was wrong. The feeling was strong, an urge to flee, to run hitting you. Long dormant prey instinct suddenly screaming at you to go, go, go!

Your feet slowed to a stop in front of a building, the glass turning reflective for a brief moment.

Somebody was behind you.

Nearby, shrouded in darkness, was a figure in jester's motley. The paleness of their mask was stark in the dark, allowing you to see the large, exaggeratedly twisted grin in full, eyes black as the void staring back at you.

It tilted its head. Bells jingled.

And then it kept turning and turning and turning– body curving in ways a human was incapable of– and then it twisted, continuing to bend in own it– him?–self before finally standing upright again.

Giggling emanated from it.

It tilted his head again, bending backwards in an arch, crawling towards you like a demented spider clown, bells jingling.