One Shot Won't Kill

Creepypasta One-Shot: Laughing Jack (LJ)

You didn't know if this was a good or bad idea. In your mind, you were highly skeptical of it. But you were physically scared.

Creepypasta don't exist, you whisper. This can prove that.

"This" being a Creepypasta Summoning Ritual you found online. Everyone claims that it works, and that whoever uses it dies. Apparently, many people have died a week after the ritual was complete. In fact, during their last days alive, they were extremely paranoid that someone was stalking them.

And then before they knew it, they were minced meat.

As for you? You were an 18 year old, and you believed in Creepypasta. It had only been recently that you realized it was an unhealthy belief. So you started to raid the internet. You found a renowned Creepypasta Ritual instead.

Your logic was simple. If it didn't work, Creepypasta didn't exist. And along with the fail, your childish beliefs would be put to rest.

So...which Creepypasta did you want to summon? The answer to that was obvious. The only Creepypasta that MAY spare you, if the ritual is real, would be Laughing Jack. He was a monochrome clown, a stalker, and a child killer. So, he might not be interested if he is the one summoned. Child does not translate to a late teen.

But then again, late teens don't normally believe in Creepypasta. If you're unlucky enough, he'll make an exception just for you. At any other time, that would be flattering. But seeing how your life was on the line, you were beyond frightened.

You sat black and white candles in a circle, and took a knife out. You carved the Creepypasta's name in the center of the circle, deep into the floorboard. When the name was very visible, you rinsed the knife with cold water, getting rid of the shavings.

Next, you sit in front of the candles. You take the peroxide to your right, and rub it along your palm. You quickly cleanse the knife as well, before scraping it across the disinfected area.

You place three drops of blood over the carved name, and then bandage up your minor wound.

The cut wasn't too deep, but you didn't want it to get infected. That would be a set-back and then some...

You sat the knife to a side, and got the matches from the table a few yards away.

This was being done in your living room. Your dark living room... Just the thought of it all send shivers rippling down your spine.

Lighting a match, you precede to light the candles. You follow the instructions, and do it in order of the circle, going clockwise. You let the candle wax burn for a bit, before grabbing your very old music box.

It was small, not even the size of your palms put together, but it would do. It was just what you needed. The tune played Pop Goes the Weasel.

You look around you quickly, and slowly open the box. When the tune starts, so does your voice.

"Up and down the London road,

In and out of the Eagle,

That's the way the money goes,

Pop! Goes the weasel."

You can feel a cold wind blow through your hair, but it quickly ceases.

You're not done. You can't go back now. If you do, he'll kill you in your sleep tonight. You MUST finish.

"I've no time to plead and pine,

I've no time to wheedle,

Kiss me quick and then I'm gone..."