thequeen_ofnothing

[thequeennofnothing]

The Jester's House (Chapter 2)

That place is definitely haunted. For the past couple of days, I have encountered knocking, footsteps upstairs, glasses sliding off the kitchen counter, and electronics going off by themselves. Now I am certainly spooked. Though I can handle a little haunting. I guess I can, as long as there is no demon in the house. I should probably shut my mouth, actually.

I always casually talk to them as if I could get an answer. Better be friendly than dinner.

Honestly, I do not feel threatened, so why stress. There is only one thing I have to stress about, and it is art school. I must get in.

Now that my days as a cleaning lady are over, I can unpack the rest of my stuff.

I took the boxes that had my art supplies and headed to my art studio.

The sun was lovely against the peeled wallpaper. I felt so free and unbothered in this new house. The ghosts actually kept me company by having me talk to the air.

As I finished unpacking, I stood there breathing anxiously as I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Come on, Willow, you’ve got this. Art school is waiting for you.”

I closed my eyes, trying not to cry, when I heard laughter from down the hall.

I froze.

What the actual hell.

I must be losing my mind or something. I was half joking about the ghosts.

I slowly went out of the room and followed the hall’s path.

If I were in a horror movie, that would have gotten me killed for sure.

After taking a deep breath, I kept walking, with no sign of a ghost.

“Do white girls get killed in thrillers? I don’t know, but I should have been dead by now, so I’m good, I guess.”

When I reached the end of the hall, I let myself breathe again. It was all fun and jokes until you can’t explain the oddness.

I can explain the knocks or the electronics, but this.

My phone rang, which made me jolt in fear.

“Damn you, Olivia.”

It was my best friend.

“Hey, Willow. Ooookay, you look as pale as the moon. What happened?”

“Ghost happened.”

I went straight to my room so I could sit down before I fainted.

“Are you still on the ghost thing?” Olivia asked, crossing her arms as the skeptic that she is.

“I was joking before. Now not so much. I heard laughter down the hall right before you called me. Explain that,” I said, trying to collect my breath.

“I don’t know. Kids playing in the neighborhood?”

“Olivia.” My voice darkened.

“It was a man’s laughter.”

I saw my best friend freeze through the screen.

“What are you saying? Are you sure no one’s in your house? You should call the police.”

“No one is here. The hall is big. They wouldn’t be able to leave before I checked without me hearing them run. Maybe I’m too tired.”

“Are you sure? Should I tell my brother to go check on you?”

I looked around the room, sensing something again.

“No need. I’m fine, thanks.”

“If you need reassurance, just call him straight up. Don’t be shy.”

“Olivia, I’m not bothering your brother for nothing. He has other stuff to worry about. His baby, his wife. It’s alright.”

Olivia took a breath and looked down.

“Fine, I get it. Just know that you can call him. You’re basically his second younger sister.” She giggled with a sweet smile.

“Thank you.”

And with that, we ended the call.

It was true about Mike, Olivia’s brother. I’ve known them since forever. Olivia and I basically grew up together, so I don’t want to worry her.

“I thought we had an agreement, ghost. We don’t bother each other.”

I fell back on my bed, touching my forehead.

“Am I being dramatic? Ugh, what time is it? I need to shower. I have to go to the prep workshop tomorrow.”

And with that, I got myself up to take a shower.

“No peeking while I’m showering, ghost freaks.”

I let my clothes fall on the ground as I entered the shower. The hot water was burning my skin, but as I know, for women that is actually enjoyable. I pushed my faded pink hair back along with the water and felt it reach my shoulders. I felt a little fear as I closed my eyes. Humans are more vulnerable in the shower. Naked to the bone and wet.

You can’t run or defend yourself if you find yourself unlucky.

“You are so good at making bad choices, Willow.”

This was supposed to be a new start, not a disaster. What am I even thinking? Ghosts? Or am I in real danger? Honestly, I would be more afraid if it were an actual man rather than a ghost. Humans are far worse than ghosts or any entity.

“I must get out quickly.”

My shower was far from enjoyable, as I was on high alert. I stepped out and wrapped myself in my robe.

“I need to buy a shower curtain,” I said as my footsteps echoed on the wet floor.

As I brought myself to the mirror, I cleaned it with my sleeve from the steam and stared at myself, fearing I would see someone behind me. But I didn’t. It was just me.

“My roots need a touch-up. Black roots and pink hair is not really a vibe. Also, it would be better to put on my clothes in the bathroom. I can’t have dead men staring at my pathetic boobs. Even though there’s a tsunami in here.”

I froze.

Another laughter. The same laughter as before, only this time it came from the other side of the bathroom door. It came from my room.

I couldn’t breathe and could barely stand.

Was someone actually in my room laughing at my rambling? I stared at my phone that I left on the sink. Should I call Mike after all?

No. Why would a man follow me around laughing instead of getting in while I’m showering?

What the hell is happening?

Do I get out? Call Mike? Call the police?

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it on my neck. I grabbed my phone and stood close to the door, trying to hear something, anything.

Silence.

I should have watched more horror movies with Olivia. If I had, I would know which choice not to make.

“That’s it. I’m coming out. I can’t stay here forever.”

And with that, I opened the door.

No one was there.

That night, I had to keep myself from crying.

[thequeennofnothing]

The Jester's House (Chapter 1)

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1fLY9WIS545Ty0PzOIGdHu?si=D0_ohXX2SLqJmSAnCsH2Aw&pi=tUlVwD0ESjmQP

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I have grown tired of my own passion, overworked myself to the point where I needed shots in my arms. Being an artist in this kind of world is not easy. People will praise you your whole life for your talent, but the moment you try to make something out of it, suddenly you are trash. You are never enough for art school, never enough to be treated like a human, always treated like nothing for not being like the person next to you.

Teachers overlook quiet students and treat them like they are stupid.

Or maybe that is just me.

Last year I took my shot at art school and failed, almost got mocked to my face by the teachers and the other students. This year I am trying again so I can embarrass myself even worse. But I cannot be a burden to my parents anymore.

So I decided to move out.

I am moving out at nineteen, a massive failure with minimum wage and a broken dream. What could go wrong, right?

Finding a place big enough for my artwork and cheap was surprisingly easy. It was definitely a bit sketchy, but hey, I am a broke artist. I will take anything. The house was old and not in the best condition, so they marketed it to college kids who were just as desperate as the sellers.

So I fell for it. Talk about desperate.

Despite the condition of the building, it had furniture and a fireplace, so maybe it was a steal after all. The only thing I had to do was clean and unpack my stuff. It was dusty as hell in there, but I felt way too guilty to ask my friends for help.

Now I get why it was so cheap. No one wanted to deal with it.

But I had to deal with it if I wanted to put my life back together. I signed the contract with the creepy house owner, bought the hell house, and put on my cleaning lady outfit which was just sweatpants after my stuff got delivered.

Cleaning this hellhole was exhausting. Dust and spiders were definitely the previous owners.

“If this place is not haunted, then I do not know what is” I yelled into my empty living room.

I should not have.

From the kitchen, I heard a knock that made my heart drop straight to my ass. Just a coincidence, right?

That was definitely not enough to scare me off. After all, I already imagined it would be haunted. I mean, look at it.

“Very funny, mister ghost, or miss, or person. I will do my thing and you do yours. But for now, I am leaving this room before I shit my pants a little.”

And with that, I went to the room I intended to turn into my art studio. Big windows, great lighting, and enough space for an artist’s imagination. And most importantly, no signs of supernatural activity.

After cleaning all day, I went to bed early to recharge for tomorrow’s cleaning session. As I lay in bed, I could not shake the feeling of someone watching me. I was not exactly scared, just a little spooked. Not a fan of sleeping alone in an empty house.

But I have a habit most people left behind when they were seven. I sleep with a night light on. I am also not a fan of the dark.

“Alrighty, ghosts, no staring at me while I am sleeping. That is creepy even for a ghost. Goodnight.”

And with that, I slept through my first night in the clown house.

[thequeennofnothing]

Ther Jester's House (Prologue)

This is the prologue of my ongoing horror story “The Jester’s House.” If you enjoy haunted houses, sarcastic narrators, and slow‑burn supernatural tension, you might like this one. Feedback is welcome.

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I wish I could stop that skin‑crawling laughter.

That’s the worst part of it, his laugh.

Is this house taunting me? Am I their plaything, something they can pass around to torment whenever they’re bored? I keep trying to seem unbothered, talking to them casually, using humor as my lifelong weapon for every terrible situation I stumble into.

The truth is, I’m scared.

And even more scared to ask for help.

“No funny business while I’m changing, you ghost freaks!” I yelled as I stepped into the bathroom. Somehow I felt safer changing in there, as if they couldn’t just slip in without me knowing and peek at my vulnerable, naked body.

At least in the bathroom, I didn’t feel their eyes on me.

I’ve got myself some respectful ghosts.

As I stepped out and reached for my bag for the prep workshop, I heard it again.

That mocking laughter.

I froze.

Not again. Can’t he just leave me alone? It was all fun and jokes when I couldn’t see or hear them. When I first moved into this house, I could tell something paranormal was going on, but I didn’t fully believe it. I mean, how could I? I can explain some odd occurrences the place is old but I cannot explain the laughter or the shadows.

I feel guilty enough as it is. I can’t make people worry over some illustrations.

Can mold do that to you? I’ve heard it’s toxic, but it can’t be that toxic…

“Is my face that funny to you, asshole?”

I tried speaking with my usual tone so I wouldn’t seem scared. That’s what they want, fear.

But I’m not giving it to them.

Sorry not sorry, ghost freaks, but this is my house too.

I grabbed my bag and left the room, trying to keep my legs from shaking… and ended up falling midway down the stairs.

My breath hitched as I heard that familiar laughter again, closer this time, almost calling out to me.

And for a moment, I really believed I died and came back to life.

“Hello there, Willow.”