The Magician

Hi friends today I am going to tell you about a creepy horror the Magician

I think every high school class has a kid who likes fantasy too much and takes it too.

Seriously.

In my school, that was Jerome, you could always find him reading, some Tolkien knockoff novel, and in conversation, he would often speculate about the reality of the books.

Magic was what he was interested in.

He seemed to religiously believe it was real and was known to practice spells to see if he could replicate the Arts found in the stories.

I suppose you could call us friends or at least he called me his friend since I was one of the few people who would listen to his theories without making fun of him.

I'll confess.

I found them interesting.

And also, I didn't have the heart to put him down.

I suppose, I should have been worried for him, but he seemed harmless.

One day at lunch, he found me in the library's computer lab.

Hey, he said, I want to show you this website.

I've been working with it for my research.

Research is responded, mildly confused, you know on Magic then without my permission.

He took over the computer.

I was using an energy URL.

It turned out to be an unfinished piece of web fiction.

I've never been sure where he found stuff like this.

And based on the story’s comments.

Jerome appeared to be the story's only reader.

Interesting, isn't it?

Jerome asked, his expression begging for a positive answer in this one magic is performed by the Dead.

I found myself nodding as I listened to his explanation.

You see, we can't perform magic in our mortal form and the dead are little more than Shadows without the powerful living.

However, if a mortal performs small sacrifices for a spirit, it can draw on strength and be asked to perform a favor.

I nodded again and said, you know, I think I read something about ancient cultures using animal sacrifice, not just to appease the gods, but also because the gods needed, the sacrifice to receive energy.

So, they could in turn bless the humans who worship them.

I didn't as usual have the heart to offer a contradictory opinion, right?

Jerome answered with enthusiasm.

This story correlates.

So well with ancient Cults, there just must be a connection.

I didn't want to point out that the most likely connection was that the author had been inspired by the same myths.

You can't possibly mean to slaughter go, I said, and I had to force down a bit of bile is the image formed in my mind.

What?

No, the Magic in this story doesn't require that kind of sacrifice.

It's a bit more personal.

When the bell rang, I stood up to go to class.

Just read the story.

He said I think this is it.

The thing I've been missing.

I nodded and departed.

It was a day or two later while I was checking Facebook at home after school.

When my phone vibrates, I'm going to try it.

Meet me tonight in the old Academy.

The text was from Jerome.

This Academy was an old burnout building that stood on the north end of town.

It had been part of an old school found nearly a century ago, by a local religious leader, but after being damaged in a fire, it had been abandoned, despite being a ruin.

It had been left standing as a historical site with vague, intentions for our serration.

The city had never come up with a clear plan for it.

I had been there before, and you could find Jerome there regularly.

It was the place kids would sneak into on a dare a place.

One could find the remains of all cult rituals in the form of chalk pentagrams and the remains of some unlucky animals.

I was never sure if the rituals were performed by actual Believers or just bored teenagers, but they were enough to cause a stir among the churches whenever they were discovered.

This, of course, is what had attracted Jerome to read the text.

Again, I sighed and ignored it since I had just come home from my after-school job, and I didn't have the fortitude to listen to excuses.

Why did this form of magic fail?

Like all the others.

I was his friend, but not that good at one of his texts.

However, it did remind me of the story.

He'd asked me to read, I had only read the first few paragraphs when he showed it to me at school, but it did seem interesting despite its lack of readership.

A page in and my phone vibrated again.

Hey, I'm here.

Are you coming to the text read?

I rolled my eyes, then turned my phone off and continued to read.

It was maybe a half hour later when the magic system was introduced.

And I gasped hoping Dram hadn't tried, what I just read.

I - downstairs, snagging the keys to my mom’s van, and drove off without an explanation to my parents.

I turned my phone back on at a red light and found some missed texts.

I'm going in.

I hope you get here soon.

I didn't want to try this alone.

Throwing my phone into the passenger seat.

I sped off toward the Burnout Academy.

I threw my car into the park and raced to the dilapidated building ignoring the no trespassing sign.

I found a hole in the fence and snuck through the overgrown weeds, that covered the grounds.

As I entered the building, I could hear cries of pain.

Echoing off the walls.

I started running towards the source of the sound and that's when I saw him in a room lit, only by a flashlight, that was laying on the ground.

Jerome was doubled over sobbing in blood-stained clothes, three metal spikes, penetrating his forearm.

Jerome.

I screamed out.

Running over a kneeling beside him started tearing my shirt.

Into makeshift bandages.

Like I can feel them.

He said, shivering and grinning, despite his obvious agony.

It's so cold when they take the blood, but I can feel them using my strength.

They're calling me.

And I'll just be a little bit more now.

Let me bandage your arm.

I said I've got to stop the bleeding.

He pulled away.

No, no, he breathes.

I'm so close.

I can feel it.

They'll have enough now soon.

Soon, you'll see.

No, I cried.

I've got to get you to a hospital.

He scooted further away from me and Drew another Spike from a bag.

That was in his lap before I could pull it away.

He plunged it into his palm screaming as blood began to pour out of it.

His eyes were mad with pain.

Stop.

I said through tears, that choked my words.

Please let me get you out of here.

No.

He coughed and fell over as he tried to push himself away.

You never really believed me.

His words came between broken breasts.

You were the one front I thought would stand by me.

His words, were cut short, as he struggled to push the spike further into his hand before he collapsed.

His ragged breast began to slow and then his body lay still.

You're right.

I didn't believe you.

I wasn't the friend that you needed, but I never thought you'd do something like this.

I saw it because I attended to his wounds and called an ambulance.

It seemed like ages before the paramedics found us in the rubble.

That was the old Academy and the trip to the hospital.

Felt even longer.

Jerome was declared dead upon arrival.

The police then questioned me for hours, which seemed like days.

When Jerome's parents arrived, I couldn't face them.

I just sagged my head forward and wept.

They tried to comfort me, but I couldn't let go of the guilt.

I felt for not answering their son's.

In the end drums, death was ruled a suicide, but I will spend the rest of my life living with the thought that I'm the one who's responsible.