This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/WorldAwayTweedy on 2026-05-19 18:13:09+00:00.

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There was one last step left in the ritual. We were almost there.

I read off my phone.

“And after you blow out all the candles, all you have to do is wait. Midnight will hit, and soon after, The Visitor will arrive. An old God. A failed God, dressed in robes. Relegated now, but still holding vast power over our domain. Be careful before you let it in.”

I paused for dramatic effect, looking between my two friends and the stranger, cellphone glare playing the role of flashlight to illuminate my expression.

“And no matter what, do what it says. Or else.”

I hammed up the last line like I was in theater class.

Trevor glanced down at his watch, then back up to me. “Alright, so do we…?”

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s.”

I blew a dragon’s breath of air to extinguish the candles arranged in the shape of a sigil on the table we were seated around. Our already dark room turned darker—pitch black alleviated only by the light we’d left on in the hallway.

And then we waited. Stillness.

A cold tingle crept up my spine.

That was, until a voice I didn’t want to hear cut through the silence—

“And sorry, just checking, we’re sure the family who lives here won’t be coming back tonight?”

“Shhh,” I responded softly.

“Hey, Tay? Manners,” snapped Trevor.

“I’m sorry but we’re six minutes from midnight. Can’t we just enjoy the ambience?” I asked.

“Absolutely, just, y’know, trying to be careful before the spooky happenings start,” she continued.

I exhaled. Not so subtly. Trevor was staring daggers. I fought hard to access the fake, masking kindness I hated to tap into on Friday nights.

“Yes, we’re sure.” I said. “The Trasks own like three other mansions. They’re literally never here. We’re fine.”

“It’s true,” Mikey started. “This is pretty much our go-to spot when we’re trying to do ghost stuff—”

“No—not ghost stuff, Mikey” I corrected. “Supernatural stuff. And I mean, even that’s a sort of loaded and vague word for what we’re trying to do. Point being—we don’t have to dumb ourselves down, guys. Even if we have a—” I caught myself just as Trevor’s cyclops eyes beamed through me, “very lovely guest.”

Truthfully, my beef wasn’t purely with her. It was with the situation. You see, when you’re part of the cool kids table as myself and my two compatriots were, for all the pros that came with being at the top of the highschool social hierarchy—and certainly, there were many—the trade-off was that anything remotely out of vogue or mainstream, anything unusable for vapid social media posting, and anything unaligned with perpetual inaction showing even a fraction of earnest interest, was frowned upon. So much so that our foray into ‘supernatural stuff’ had to be done in secret. Quietly. With no fanfare.

And now, I was sitting across from someone, someone doing her best to climb the same social ladder I was sick of. Dating Trevor to escape irrelevancy, forcing herself to be somewhere she didn’t even want to be.

I looked at the time. Three minutes to midnight, now.

“And so, if I might ask, have any of you seen something ‘out of the ordinary’ before?” she asked again.

“Yes.” Me.

“Nah.” Trevor.

“Kind of?” Mikey.

I took in the surprising divergence. “What? Guys?”

Trevor started, “I mean, if you’re talking about the night with the ouija board—”

“Yes, obviously I’m talking about that night—”

“Well, uh, I mean those… boards, they kind of like—work subconsciously, right? Like, if you really want something to happen—”

I stared at him, annoyed he picked this moment to put a megaphone to his skepticism.

“Then it’ll happen,” he finished.

And I realized it really, truly was crazy how much people could change their viewpoints depending on who was around them.

I got up. “I’m gonna go grab another drink from downstairs.”

“Wait, but, shouldn’t we all stay together just in case—”

I interrupted her. “Let’s not kid ourselves.”

I left the room, hearing on my way out the muted whispers and restrained gesticulations that usually arose whenever something awkward happened.

People really don’t realize how obvious they are. Doubly so in the case of friends who forget you know exactly how they operate. They’ll talk and worry about you, thinking they’re being subtle about it.

I trudged down the illuminated hallway. It was funny—like Mikey had said, we’d been at this giant manor with enviable square footage many, many times now. So much so that what initially elicited jealousy and awe now just felt like any other place.

I heard the echo of soft, jogging footsteps come through behind me. An awkward run.

“Tay, if you could just hold for a second,” she said. I stopped. I suppressed emotion.

I turned. Faced Liz.

“Actually I forgot to mention,” I said. “I prefer to go by Taylor.”

She froze, having closed the distance. “Right. Sorry? I kept hearing them call you Tay, so I must’ve mistakenly thought—”

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“Right. I just, uhm—I don’t know if we’ve maybe gotten off on the wrong foot or something, but I, you know, wanted to…”

I waited for her to drop the word salad and get to the meat of whatever she was trying to say.

“Just wanted to thank you, really, for all of your patience with my questions.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Just trying to, y’know, be as informed a member of this crew as I can.”

“You say crew as if it’s permanent.”

She did a quick double take. “Well right, Trevor said you guys get together every other Friday. That it’s been a thing for years now?”

“He said that?”

“Yeah… yeah he did.”

“That’s so interesting. It sounds like he really wants you to be involved.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “I don’t know, I mean, maybe?”

I smiled. “I love that.”

She smiled back—a more sincere one. Seemingly, anyways.

“I’m gonna go steal that drink,” I said. “Let me know if you want anything.”

“I’m alright, thanks—” and then she paused deliberately as if to show attention to detail, “Taylor.”

She hit me with the ol’ finger gun as she said it.

I turned back towards the staircase, curl of my lips dissolving to frown the second she couldn’t see my face. I granted myself permission for a thorough eye roll, then descended down the grand steps to the main lobby.

Not for a bevvie, actually, but for a quick, meaningful respite. Alone time. An energy reset.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I froze at the bottom of the steps.

Time slowed for just a moment, as I thought—

And conjured up the near-preposterous amount of rituals our group had done over the last few years, all of them leading to nothing of substance happening.

After all, nothing ever happened, really. Even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.

All of this was just play. Desperate, miserable attempts to broach the ether.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I glanced back to the top of the staircase. Trevor and Mikey had joined Liz—all three standing motionless, huddled together in the hallway.

“Is that the Trasks?” Trevor whispered loudly from up top.

“Why would they be knocking on their own door?” I whispered back.

It took me a moment to internalize the words I’d instinctively blurted.

I edged forward methodically, my heartbeat loud in my ribcage, wondering what this strange new feeling I was feeling was as I crept to the front door.

My careful steps were drowned out by Mikey and Trevor—with stranger in tow—rushing down the stairs in a too-fast tiptoe.

My eyeball met peephole.

By the time I saw the towering, robed figure through the tiny glass circle, I was flanked by my crew. In a way, I didn’t have to take in the staggering sight alone.

An old God. A relegated God. Just outside on the doorstep.

A visitor.

And two simultaneous feelings filled me—first, a whirlpool of awe at the revelation that after years of throwing aimlessly at the dartboard, something supernatural had stuck.

And second, in tandem, an oppressive wave of fear washing over me. Fear that maybe any bravery that came from throwing said darts at said dartboard was emboldened by the subconscious belief that nothing would actually ever hit paydirt.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

And this time, I saw the motion bring about the sound.

“It’s real,” I said, detaching from my narrow view of what waited outside.

Trevor looked at me, astonished, clearly in denial. “How are you making that sound happen?”

“We need to let it in,” I said, ignoring him.

“Don’t let it in,” said Liz. My eyes went to her. We were our trio, and she was meters away, standing at the bottom of the stairs grabbing her arm. Nervous. Stressed.

I stifled a bitter laugh. “I knew you didn’t care about any of this stuff.”

With that, I reached for the doorknob. Trevor was pressed against where I just was, face wearing a level of concern I’d never quite seen on him.

“Tay, wait,” he started, “maybe we should—”

I unlocked, pulled it open, forcing Trev to step back. And just like that, there it was—

The visitor. Looking completely out of this world. Midnight curling behind it like a backdrop.

And from where I stood—inside a mansion that wasn’t even mine, in the remote suburbs that suddenly felt a bit too remote—it hit me.

And my breath caught.

In fact, I felt the quickening breath of everyone around me.

And I’m not sure why, but the dumbest word came to my mind.

“Yes?” I asked, as if we hadn’t invited it.

“Will you let me enter?” it responded, in what sounded like a sea of whispers, overlapping yet clashing like a cho...

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