The Unread Tarot of Hollow Creek

In the quiet town of Hollow Creek, where the fog rolled in like a shroud every night, there lived a young woman named Elara. She was a skeptic, a collector of old books and stranger tales, but she never truly believed in the supernatural. That is, until she found the deck. It was in her grandmother’s attic, buried beneath a pile of moth-eaten quilts and a broken music box. The deck was old, the cards yellowed and fragile, but the artwork was haunting: faces twisted in silent agony, eyes that seemed to follow her. On the back of each card was a symbol she didn’t recognize, a spiral that seemed to burrow into her mind.

Elara had heard of the card game from a friend, a way to contact spirits, but she thought it was just a parlor trick. Yet, one restless night, she decided to try it. She followed the instructions she half-remembered: shuffle, lay the cards face down in three groups, each group with two columns and three rows. She asked a simple question: ‘Is anyone here with me?’ The card at the top of the first group flipped over on its own, revealing a heart. Yes.

A chill ran down her spine, but she pressed on. ‘Are you a good spirit?’ The card she drew was a spade. No. ‘Are you sure you’re not lying?’ Another spade. A rasping sound came from her closet, like nails on wood. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice trembling. The cards spread out, forming a pattern that spelled a name: MORGANA. Elara nearly dropped the deck. She didn’t know any Morgana.

Frightened, she tried to put the cards away, but they clung to her hands, slipping back into formation. She asked, ‘What do you want?’ The cards arranged into a row of clubs, then hearts, then spades: a sequence that formed a date—October 31st. ‘That’s Halloween,’ she whispered. The cards then spelled, ‘BEWARE THE SUMMONING.’

Elara decided to ignore the game, but the cards kept appearing in her dreams. Every night, she saw a figure in a black veil, standing in a field of dead flowers, pointing at her. She started to hear whispers in the wind, calling her name. On the day before Halloween, she received a letter in her mailbox with no postmark. It was a handwritten note: ‘You have opened the door. Now you must close it, or it will open all the way.’ Inside was a key—old, rusted, with a tiny spiral on its head.

The note vaguely described a ritual to sever the connection: you must take the deck to the abandoned church on the edge of town, and burn it in the old iron brazier, while saying a specific incantation. But the letter warned: ‘If you fail, the spirit will see you, and she will take your voice.’

Halloween night, Elara drove to the church, the cards feeling heavier with each mile. The church was overgrown, windows shattered, but the iron brazier still stood near the altar. She laid the cards out on the stone floor, just as the instructions had said. She lit a match, but before she could touch the flame to the cards, the wind blew it out. A cold presence filled the room. She turned to see a woman in a black veil, standing in the doorway, her face obscured, but her smile could be heard.

‘You summoned me,’ the spirit hissed. ‘Now I am here. You will not burn my home.’

Elara tried to speak, but her throat constricted. She tried again, but only a rasp came out. The spirit laughed, a sound like breaking glass. Elara picked up the deck and threw it into the brazier, but the fire didn’t catch; the cards just sat there, mocking her. The spirit advanced, and Elara’s voice failed completely. She felt her throat tear inside, a silent scream as the spirit’s hand reached into her chest and pulled out a wisp of light—her voice—and swallowed it.

She woke up in her bed the next morning, Halloween over, but she could not speak. She tried to scream, but only a wheeze escaped. She went to the mirror and saw her throat, unmarked, but her vocal cords were gone. She grabbed the deck, which was on her bedside table, and saw that one card had changed. The face of the card was blank, but when she turned it over, it was her own face, twisted in a silent scream.

Elara now lives in Hollow Creek, unable to tell her story, communicating through notes. And sometimes, at night, she hears the spirit’s voice coming from her own throat, whispering to people who play the card game, inviting them to ask it questions. If you ever play, be careful what you ask. You might not like the answer. And if you hear a voice from within you that isn’t yours, know that you’ll never speak again.