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— WHAT THE HELL IS THIS NONSENSE?! — Dan shouted into the empty room, hysterically choking on his own laughter, which echoed off the concrete structures. He was shaking, and for a moment, it felt like he was about to lose control completely. But just as his laughter faded into ragged, heavy breathing, the book in his hands... trembled.
No, not just trembled. It... vibrated.
— What the... — Dan fell silent, feeling his fingers instinctively loosen. The book slipped from his hands and hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, flying open. For a second — or was it just his imagination? — he thought he heard a faint, distant chuckle drift through the air.
Dan looked around, his heart pounding in his chest. No one was there. Just empty, oppressive silence. Only gray walls and that stupid jester drawing on the wall.
"Who the hell is that?!" Thoughts raced through his mind one after another, and then he clenched his fists, feeling a wave of rage rising inside. If someone had seen this. If someone had been here all along, watching him, witnessing his humiliation, he would beat the crap out of them.
— Who's there?! — he barked, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
And then... a voice. Quiet, hoarse, disturbingly calm, as if spoken by someone who was used to getting under people's skin.
— Relax, boy. It's just you and me here.
Dan froze, a chill running down his spine. His gaze dropped sharply to the book. On its open page... there he was.
The Jester. Small, barely reaching Dan's knee, no more than 30 centimeters tall. The same one from the drawing. A red-and-purple costume with jingling bells, a pointed hat, lips stretched into a grin. But now — it wasn't just an illustration. He was standing there, alive, hands on his hips, looking up at him with a mix of indifference and barely concealed mockery.
— You... — Dan swallowed, stepping back, but immediately gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. — What the... what the hell is this?! What are you?!
— Oh, me? — The jester gave a slight bow, emitting a sound like a bell ringing. — Just a wish granter. You've heard of those, right? Only no lamps or other silly trinkets. — His eyes narrowed, and the grin widened. — You woke me up, so now... state your wish.
Dan blinked, feeling his pulse hammering in his temples. A wish? What damn wish? This all felt so absurd he nearly laughed again, but the strange heaviness in the air, the cold, pressing sensation emanating from the book, held him still.
— A wish? — he repeated through clenched teeth. — You think I'll fall for this circus act? Who the hell are you? How are you doing this?
He started scanning the room, searching for anything — cameras, projectors, laser tricks — something that could explain this bizarre performance. But the concrete walls were bare and solid, not a crack, not a sign of hidden equipment. Just the dim light from a small window and... the book, still lying open on the floor.
The jester hadn't moved. His head tilted slightly, as if watching Dan with mild curiosity, but no trace of concern.
— "Circus"? — The jester smirked, squinting. — No, boy. The circus was when you tried to impress her... and failed.
— Screw you, — Dan growled, suddenly feeling the rage burning inside demand release. — Cut the crap!
His foot shot out, aiming straight for the tiny figure of the jester, but—
In that instant, the jester vanished, dissolving into the air like a puff of smoke.
Dan staggered, nearly losing his balance as his boot struck the concrete floor with a sharp crack.
— Damn it... — He froze, breathing heavily, eyes darting around. — Where are you, you little freak?!
— I didn't like that, — the voice returned, but this time, without the mockery.
The jester reappeared — perched on a stack of boxes in the corner. His grin was gone. The bells on his hat had stopped jingling, and his eyes darkened, the playful spark extinguished.
— I said: a wish. — His voice was flat, almost cold. — You woke me. Now speak.
Dan felt the hair on his neck stand on end. The light in the room seemed to dim, the space pressing in, darker, deeper, as though reality itself had shrunk, leaving him alone with... this thing. But he didn't back down. His fists stayed clenched, his jaw tight — he couldn't show weakness.
But then, Emma's voice echoed in his mind. That trembling, desperate voice when she spoke about this jester. Dan remembered Emma standing there, pale, her eyes red from crying, clutching that damn book like it could somehow save her. Her voice shaking, trying to tell him something important, incoherent, almost mad: about the jester, about some kind of "exchange," about how she was once a man. Mark. God, what nonsense! He remembered her fingers flipping through the pages in a frenzy, her lips trembling as she tried to prove it wasn't a fantasy. But he hadn't listened. No. He hadn't taken her words seriously at all. All he could see back then was how beautiful she was.
He just wanted... to impress her. To make her his. To make it perfect. And she... ran away.