The darkness pulls me deeper and deeper.
Hahahahaha.
The laughter of that damn killer clown still echoes inside my head. A pure, burning hatred grows in my chest toward that lunatic.
I snap my eyes open.
I'm in a room.
I sit up in bed, my heart pounding like it's trying to burst out of my chest.
Wasn't I supposed to be dead?
How… how is it possible that I'm still breathing?
I look around. The room is small and messy. On the desk there's fast food trash —a cold pizza box, empty Coca-Cola cans— and a wrinkled The Ring poster taped to the wall. An old CRT television sits in the corner, turned off. On the nightstand, a worn Nokia 3310, one of those indestructible ones.
I stand up unsteadily and head straight to the bathroom. The mirror reflects the image of a seventeen-year-old boy. A high school student. Average face: not handsome, not ugly. Messy brown hair. Tired eyes.
I dig through the memories of this body that is now mine.
Result: a total slacker.
Mediocre grades. Passes classes by the skin of his teeth and pure luck. No remarkable talents.
I let out a deep sigh.
I walk to the window. Outside, it's deep night.
No way I'm going out at this hour.
The wall clock reads 2:00 AM.
So this is my new life.
There's no point in getting depressed or panicking. With everything I know about the future —stocks, technologies that don't exist yet, world events— I could easily become a millionaire. I just have to endure what's left of high school… and then college.
But then I feel it again.
That fear.
A chill runs down my spine.
I look toward the window and see a shadow moving among the trees in the yard. It appears. Disappears. Appears again.
My body starts trembling uncontrollably.
—No… it can't be that clown lunatic, right?
This can't be happening…
I look again.
Nothing.
The sensation fades slowly. I force myself to steady my breathing, but I don't let my guard down.
I dig back into the boy's memories.
No family. Parents died three weeks ago in an accident. They left him a decent inheritance: $250,000 in a bank account.
Is someone trying to kill me for the money?
Tension tightens around my chest. One thing was that clown who slit my throat without effort… and another very different thing is some guy with a gun in a country where everyone has one.
Minutes pass.
Nothing.
I stay alert. This world doesn't inspire trust. More minutes pass. Still nothing.
For the first time, I relax a little.
This is surreal.
That fear… it wasn't normal. It felt alive. As if the clown doesn't just kill —he feeds on fear.
Hahahaha.
I stand up from the chair and turn my head in every direction. Right. Left. Under the bed.
Running from him is impossible. That much is clear.
But… why is he following me here?
And how did he know my name?
Ryan.
Then a voice breaks the silence of the room.
—I hope you like the gift, Ryan.
A new life.
My body freezes.
—I gave you the chance to reincarnate in this world. A dangerous world. Supernatural entities lurk in the shadows. You probably got a little taste of it when you saw that shadow appear and disappear.
I swallow hard. It's the same voice: distorted, playful, malicious.
—I know you won't survive on your own. That's why I'm giving you six gifts… and a bit of information. Figure things out yourself. In this world, people disappear without a trace all the time. It's… normal.
The voice drops lower, heavier, as if smiling behind sharp teeth.
—Fear… to warn.
Terror… to paralyze.
Horror… is the final message.
—Survive, Ryan.
You're going to need a lot of luck.
—Goodbye. Enjoy the gifts… and this new life.
I'm completely frozen.
Supernatural entities?
What the hell is he talking about?
Cold sweat runs down my body. The reflection in the bathroom mirror, visible from the room, shows a pale, distorted face.
Why me?
Why this cruel world?
Several minutes pass before I manage to calm down a bit.
Powers.
He gave me powers.
That… that changes everything.
A shadow slides out from the corner of the room. This time I don't feel fear. It's familiar. It wraps around me like icy mist, and a voice —the same one, now inside my head— speaks clearly.
—Your gifts are six.
—First: your body is no longer fragile. Superhuman physique. Test it if you want.
—Second: magic. You'll soon feel it flowing.
—Third: a space to store whatever you want.
It pauses.
—The other three… you'll discover when you need them.
I break down crying. Tears of relief. Of joy.
I have powers.
I can survive.
I can live like a king.
—Use them to become strong —the voice continues—. The entities are ancient. Powerful.
Use them to hunt killers, traffickers, cults, cannibals… anything that deserves to disappear.
The voice turns into a poisonous whisper.
—Use fear, terror, and absolute horror to make them suffer.
You are not a hero.
You are not a villain.
—You are a killer clown.
Never forget that.
—Let blood be the proof. Use those three weapons without mercy… without clemency.
My smile fades. The tears dry.
Dress like a clown?
Makeup, a ridiculous costume, all that theater?
Pathetic.
But then…
An icy shiver runs through my entire body. It's not mine. It's чужой —foreign.
My voice comes out on its own, deeper, with an echo I don't recognize:
—I'll do it gladly.
I will bring blood, fear, terror, and absolute horror to everyone.
When the words leave my mouth, I look toward the bathroom mirror.
For a fraction of a second, my face is painted: an exaggerated red smile, black eyes, ghostly white skin.
I blink.
It's normal again.
The chill vanishes.
The shadow fades away without a trace.
I'll look for a clown mask. No makeup that takes hours.
I'll test these powers.
I raise my head and look at the full moon through the window.
What a world of wonders…
and dangers…
awaits me in this cursed place.
Far away, in some dark corner of the city, a distant laugh echoes under the same moon.
And this time…
it sounds exactly like mine.