CHAPTER ONE

HALOVILLE

CHAPTER ONE

"What are you carving?" I asked Derick, who was intently focused on his desk.

"Oh, this? It's Mr. Smiley. What do you think?" he replied, glancing up with a hint of pride.

"Is he smiling?" I asked, squinting at the uneven lines and vague expression.

"Of course! And he'll come to life," Derick said, his eyes sparkling with conviction.

"Sure, like I'll get a gift from Santa one day," I shot back, my sarcasm hanging in the air.

"All he needs is blood," Derick continued, his tone taking on a spooky seriousness as he fixed his gaze on the carving.

"Did you hit your head or something?" I asked, starting to feel a little uneasy.

"I read a book about summoning spirits. It said if you create something, believe in it, and write 'come alive' backwards, it'll work," he explained, enthusiasm dripping from every word.

"Well, don't believe everything you read, and definitely don't practice what you don't understand," I cautioned him.

"Tonight, at midnight, we wake Mr. Smiley," he declared.

I rolled my eyes. "You can summon spirits all you want, but count me out. Actually, on second thought, let's make a bet. If it doesn't work, you'll give me fifty bucks."

"Deal! Same goes for me," Derick said, his confidence unwavering as we shook hands.

This guy must be crazy, I thought, shaking my head. I soon drifted off to sleep, only to be jolted awake by a light tap.

I groggily opened my eyes to see Derick standing over me, and then I remembered our bet. "Oh my God, this guy is sick in the head," I thought.

I quickly got dressed, and we headed outside, only to hear a murmur in the silence: "Don't wake up Mr. Smiley."

"Did you hear that?" Derick asked, eyes wide.

"What? He's just talking in his sleep. Are we doing this or not? I want to get back to sleep," I replied, still half-asleep.

The chill in the air woke me up as we approached the classroom. It was eerily quiet—no crickets, no sounds of the night. Following my best friend to summon a spirit felt absurd, but the thought of fifty bucks was tempting. Still, there was something strange about Derick's unwavering belief.

We entered the classroom, and I switched on the lights. "Okay, Mr. Sorcerer, how does this work?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"We need blood to write the words," he said matter-of-factly.

"Fine, but you do it. I'm not about to cut myself for this nonsense," I smirked.

"I wasn't asking," Derick said, pulling out a small knife and advancing toward me.

"Wait! How about we both use our blood instead?" I suggested, raising my hands in surrender.

Derick thought for a moment, then nodded. I reluctantly took the knife, knowing I had never intentionally harmed myself before. Closing my eyes, I counted to three and made the cut. I handed the knife to Derick, who followed suit, tearing a piece from his shirt to soak up the blood.

He wrote the words "EMOC EVILA" on the desk. Suddenly, a wave of realization hit me: we were performing a blood ritual. I was now tied to whatever would happen next.

The lights began to flicker—on, off, on, off—then everything plunged into darkness. The desk absorbed our blood, the outline of Mr. Smiley forming eerily beneath the surface.

Then we heard a horrid laugh, followed by words that echoed in the room like thunder: "WHY…DON'T…YOU…SMILE?"

I screamed, turning to run without looking back. I've been running ever since.

The next day, Derick's mutilated body was found, his head partially severed, an X on one eye, a cross on the other, his mouth carved into a twisted grin. The school dismissed it as a result of his mental instability, trying to avoid the press and public scrutiny.

And that's how it all began—or so I thought. I dedicated my life to studying the supernatural, desperate to understand what I had unleashed. For fifteen years, I was plagued by visions of Mr. Smiley hunting me.

It took another ritual to free myself, one that cost my parent's lives. Not that I sacrificed them—no, not at all. Mr. Smiley killed them, trying to bind me to him. How that unfolded is a story for another time.

As I recount the events that followed our conjuring, brace yourself. This journey isn't for the faint of heart; it's horror beyond anything you've heard or seen. It's real.