Chapter 1
1549words
Now, I'm standing at the eye of this storm—on the set of a reality show called "Supernatural Mysteries: The Salem Curse."
Media cameras have the place surrounded, with a strange tension hanging in the air. On my phone screen, the hashtag #KickMorganOffTheShow is already trending at number one.
Just then, a commotion erupted. A black SUV pulled up, and a woman wearing an elaborate vintage gown stepped out gracefully amid the flashing cameras. A pitch-black cat perched on her shoulder, its eyes gleaming.
It was Evelyn Sykes, my "opponent" on this show, an influencer who had clawed her way to fame by recording so-called "witch rituals."
She sauntered right up to me, her crimson lips curling into a smirk. "Hello, Miss Blackwood." She dragged out the last syllable, "I'm so pleased to meet a 'real' witch. I thought you might be too ashamed to show your face."
Her fans immediately flooded the livestream comments:
"Queen Evelyn owning the room!"
"Who does this Morgan think she is? Total fake!"
The other guests arrived shortly after. The host was celebrity spiritualist Simon Yarrow, and joining us was renowned mysticism scholar Bianca Wynn.
Evelyn wore a dark purple velvet robe with billowing sleeves embroidered with intricate silver runes that caught the light as she moved, like ancient incantations come to life. Several silver rings set with black onyx adorned her fingers, her nails painted a bewitching deep purple.
And standing opposite her was me, like a muggle who had stumbled into Hogwarts—wearing just a plain white cotton tee slightly grayed from too many wash cycles, faded blue jeans with a worn patch at the knee, and beat-up canvas sneakers with carelessly tied laces. The contrast with Evelyn's gleaming pointed leather boots couldn't have been more striking.
Host Simon's gaze bounced between Evelyn and me several times before he finally managed, "Your look is… refreshingly minimal."
Evelyn let out a theatrical laugh. "Oh honey, when things get dangerous, feel free to hide behind me. Don't try to play hero!"
The first filming location was the abandoned "Lost Witch Village" on the outskirts of town. The place was supposedly haunted, and the production team had gone overboard with dry ice and ominous background music to set the mood.
So fake, I thought to myself. Real danger never comes with its own soundtrack.
Evelyn whirled dramatically to face the camera, her robe billowing like dark wings. She tilted her chin upward and proclaimed in an exaggerated theatrical voice:
"In Salem—" her voice dripped with venom, "the legacy of witches is sacred and solemn, not some costume anyone can put on for Instagram likes!"
Her gaze cut into me like a knife, her lips twisting into a sneer. She thrust her finger toward my face, the polished nail nearly grazing my eye—
"Morgan Blackwood!" she practically snarled, "do you dare face me in a true witch's challenge?!"
The livestream comments section went nuclear.
"Get lost, Morgan!"
"Fake witch, stop embarrassing yourself!"
"Queen Evelyn, destroy her!!!"
Hatred flooded the screen, the angry red text pulsing like digital blood.
My knuckles went white, nails biting into my palms.
Enough.
I slowly lifted my gaze, cold as winter frost.
"What you call 'authentic'—" My voice was quiet but cut through the noise like a blade, "is nothing but props and rehearsed lines, a performance for gullible viewers… Cheap theater."
Evelyn's face contorted, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints, as if I'd slapped her on live camera.
"You—!"
I cut her off before she could continue.
I raised my right hand, my fingertips drawing a symbol in the air that left trails of dark light—the ancient seal of the Blackwood family, a forbidden sigil passed down only through blood.
A deep hum resonated—
The air shimmered for a heartbeat.
Then—
CRACK!
Every light on set went haywire, blue-white sparks jumping between equipment. The carefully curated background music screeched once and died. Complete silence followed.
A bone-deep chill swept through the venue like an arctic blast. Even the livestream comments froze for a moment—
Then the comments section exploded:
"WTF JUST HAPPENED???" "Did you all see that???" "Is Morgan actually a real witch?!?!"
Evelyn stood frozen, her face drained of color, the silver chain around her neck vibrating violently as if pulled by invisible hands.
I calmly lowered my hand and said quietly into the dead silence:
"Now, who's the fraud?"
Dead silence.
Thirty seconds of absolute stillness.
Simon, ever the professional, recovered first. After a moment of visible panic, he plastered on a smile that looked more like a grimace and attempted to salvage his derailed show.
"Ah… haha, it seems both our witches have… have shown us some impressive talents. Very… unexpected." He cleared his throat and quickly grabbed his cue card. "Moving right along with today's schedule! Our first challenge begins now! The theme—Unveiling the Secrets of the Witch Village!"
He pointed to a crooked stone house deeper in the village, his voice artificially enthusiastic to mask his fear: "Legend says a powerful witch family once lived here before vanishing without a trace one night. Your mission, esteemed guests, is to discover what really happened to them!"
I laughed bitterly to myself.
The real secrets were never written in TV show prompts.
And real danger never waits for the cameras to roll.
Our group began exploring the so-called "Witch Village."
Most structures had collapsed into rubble, with only fragments of walls remaining, covered in thick moss. The production team had scattered "authentic" props throughout—crystal balls, fake grimoires, and plastic skulls.
Evelyn marched at the front of our group. She'd apparently recovered from her earlier shock, though her poisonous glances still shot back at me occasionally.
The humiliation and fear were clearly fermenting inside her, brewing into something darker and more dangerous.
She quickly "discovered" something unusual—a ritual chamber buried underground, its entrance sealed by a stone door covered in strange symbols.
"Oh my god, look!" she exclaimed with theatrical surprise, drawing everyone's attention. "This must be where all the important clues are hidden!"
She turned around, fixing me with a direct stare, her challenge unmistakable.
"Morgan, since you're such a real witch, why don't you open it? Let's see what's actually inside."
I didn't budge.
From the moment we approached the stone door, I felt a crushing weight in my chest, like an icy hand squeezing my heart.
Those symbols weren't production team props—they were an ancient binding seal. They pulsed with faint but unmistakably sinister energy.
Whatever was locked inside was dangerous. Very dangerous.
"We are not opening that door," I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for debate.
Evelyn snickered, gesturing dramatically to the others: "Look at her! She's terrified. Claims to be a real witch but can't even handle a simple door."
A pink-haired influencer nodded eagerly. "Right? It's just a TV show. Why so serious?"
"OPEN IT! OPEN IT!" The livestream comments scrolled rapidly, Evelyn's fans dominating the feed once again.
I moved quickly to block the door, my voice deadly serious: "Listen to me. There is real danger behind this door. Open it, and you deal with the consequences."
"Consequences?" Evelyn's smile twisted into something ugly. "All I know is if you keep blocking the way, everyone will see you for what you really are—a coward and a fraud!"
As she spoke, she darted around me and reached for the heavy stone door!
The moment her fingertips touched the stone.
A chorus of whispers erupted around us, like dozens of invisible mouths hissing directly into our ears.
Then came a blood-curdling shriek from behind the door—high-pitched and piercing, like a soul in eternal torment.
A freezing wind whipped up from nowhere, howling through the sealed underground chamber!
Every candle snuffed out instantly. The ancient runes on the stone door blazed with sinister red light. The icy wind whipped dust into miniature cyclones that wailed like tortured spirits.
"AHHHHH!"
Evelyn took the brunt of it, thrown backward by the supernatural gale. She crashed to the ground, her perfect makeup smeared, her elaborate robe filthy with dust. Her arrogance vanished, replaced by raw, animal fear.
She screamed hysterically, terrified by the chaos she'd unleashed.
In the chaos, I instinctively grabbed the pendant hanging around my neck.
It was a family amulet carved from dark wood, bearing the same ancient seal I'd drawn in the air. The only thing my mother had left me, worn against my skin for years until it was smooth as silk from my body heat.
I gripped the amulet tightly. Its warmth flowed through me, instantly pushing back the bone-deep chill. The howling wind seemed to hit an invisible barrier three feet around me, unable to penetrate my protected space.
I stood in the eye of the supernatural storm, an island of impossible calm amid the chaos.
The livestream comments, after a moment of stunned silence, went absolutely berserk.
"HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT?!"
"Evelyn's face right now! LMAO!"
"Did y'all see Morgan grab something? Nothing's touching her!"
"Team Morgan for life! She's the real deal!"
