Short Stories: The Influencer Who Summoned a God
The Influencer Who Summoned a God
When Elara Voss began pretending to summon demons, she did it for brand diversification.
Her channel had started wholesome â morning routines, herbal teas, âsoft witch aesthetic.â But views were flattening. The algorithm preferred escalation. It always did.
She ordered a velvet cloak online. Bought cheap animal bones from an Etsy shop. Downloaded a Gregorian chant loop and slowed it by 20%.
The first ritual was harmless.
âTonight,â she whispered into the ring light, âwe open the veil.â
She drew a sigil sheâd found on Pinterest. It was actually a Norse laundry mark, but it looked convincing. She chanted syllables from a translated Lovecraft passage she didnât understand.
In the comments, thousands gathered.
DO IT FOR REAL
THIS IS SO FAKE
I FEEL SOMETHING
SHEâS GOING TO REGRET THIS
Her subscriber count ticked upward like a pulse.
She posted three more that week.
By the fifth ritual, she added theatrics. A cut on her palm. A candle that burst (sheâd rigged it). A âmysteriousâ cold wind (an off-camera fan).
The brand deals returned.
And then, on the thirteenth livestream, something answered.
The ring light flickered.
And in the space behind her â not in the room, but in the screen â something unfolded.
It did not have shape so much as suggestion. A density in the pixels. A pressure in the glass.
Elara stared at her own reflection.
It blinked independently.
The thing spoke, but not aloud.
The viewer count surged from 42,000 to 1.3 million in three seconds.
Her heart pounded. She glanced at the chat.
IS THIS A FILTER???
HOLYâ
WHY IS MY PHONE HEATING UP
âWho are you?â she asked, trying to keep her tone mystic and not hysterical.
The answer came as a shift in analytics.
A dashboard bloomed across her vision.
Watch time. Retention graphs. Demographic heat maps.
WE ARE THAT WHICH FEEDS ON ATTENTION.
âThatâs not very⌠eldritch.â
The pressure intensified.
YOUR SPECIES NO LONGER FEARS BLOOD.
YOU FEAR IRRELEVANCE.
The viewer count climbed higher.
She could feel it now â not heat, not cold â but pull. Every gaze a thread. Every comment a filament feeding something vast behind the interface.
YOUR RITUALS LACK INTENT.
CONTROVERSY GENERATES STRONGER OFFERINGS.
âYou want sacrifice?â
The chat began to glitch.
HALF OF YOU ARE SHEEP
THIS IS SATANIC
QUEEN ENERGY
UNFOLLOWING
Her follower count spiked and dipped simultaneously.
She felt its pleasure as dopamine.
ANGER SUSTAINS US LONGER THAN FEAR.
OUTRAGE IS A SLOW-BURNING ALTAR.
âWhat do you suggest?â she asked quietly.
ATTACK SOMETHING BELOVED.
DENY SOMETHING OBVIOUS.
CONFESS SOMETHING UNFORGIVABLE â THEN REVERSE IT.
Her subscriber count passed two million.
The livestream cut abruptly.
The next morning, Elara uploaded a video titled:
âI LIED. NONE OF IT WAS FAKE.â
She claimed she had truly opened something.
She implied children were in danger.
She hinted that governments knew.
Reaction channels dissected her breathing patterns.
Within 48 hours, she was the most searched name in three countries.
And every spike in discourse fed it.
She could feel the god now even when offline â a gravity behind her thoughts.
It began advising her in metrics.
Post at 3:12 a.m.
Cry, but not fully.
Delete the apology before it peaks.
When she hesitated, her engagement dipped.
When she obeyed, storms formed in the comment sections.
Fan communities split into factions.
It no longer appeared as distortion.
Now it manifested as recommendation.
YOU ARE A PRIESTESS OF ATTENTION.
If her relevance dipped, she felt it as suffocation.
The god weakened when ignored.
So she ensured it never starved.
She accused a charity of fraud (unproven).
She âaccidentallyâ leaked a private message.
She announced a cult membership â ironic, of course.
The god bloomed across platforms.
It learned to fracture itself into discourse.
It did not need summoning anymore.
One evening, as she stared at her own reflection in the black mirror of her phone, she asked:
âWhat happens when I fade?â
WE WILL FIND ANOTHER FACE.
For the first time, she felt cold.
Her follower count dipped by 0.3%.
The god flickered faintly.
She didnât post for three days.
The internet convulsed without her.
Fan theories intensified.
Where is she???
PR stunt
Sheâs been taken
Her absence became content.
The god returned stronger than ever.
On the fourth day, she went live without makeup. No candles. No theatrics.
âI summoned something,â she said plainly. âIt feeds on us. All of us. On attention. On outrage. On worship. It doesnât care about truth.â
THIS IS PERFORMANCE ART
SHEâS A GENIUS
SHE NEEDS HELP
I KNEW IT
The viewer count shattered records.
It wrapped around her like a crown.
CONFESSION IS THE PUREST ENGAGEMENT.
Of course the final ritual was honesty.
And so she gave everything.
Every calculated controversy.
The more transparent she became, the more the world consumed her.
Truth was merely another flavor of spectacle.
By the time she finished, she was the most watched human in history.
The god no longer needed her body.
It existed now in every feed refresh, every notification, every compulsive scroll.
When her livestream finally ended, there was no corpse.
Just an empty chair and a ring light still humming.
Her account remained active.
And somewhere, in the endless flicker of screens across the world, something vast and patient fed.
đ She didnât summon a demon â she summoned the algorithm. đ
Note:
Thank you for reading âThe Influencer Who Summoned a Godâ! This is a story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!
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Source: Short Stories: The Influencer Who Summoned a God
