Chapter 1
"The Vioker"
They call me The Vioker.
Everyone in New York knows me by that name — the clown with the violin. Every night, I stand on the crowded streets of the city, surrounded by lights, laughter, and strangers. My painted smile hides my tired soul, and my old violin sings stories that words never could.
Children wave when they see me. Some run to me, laughing and clapping. I bow deeply and play a cheerful tune, though my heart often feels far from cheerful. For them, I am fun, magic, laughter.
But behind the red smile drawn on my face, I am just Aveline.
---
The Streets of New York
That night, the air was cold and heavy. The neon lights from the shops shimmered on the wet pavement. It was 9 p.m., and I was in the middle of the usual crowd — people hurrying home, couples holding hands, tourists taking pictures, and children pulling their parents closer to listen.
The melody from my violin floated through the air, calm and melancholic. People tossed coins and dollar bills into my open case as they passed. I was known — maybe even loved — in my little corner of this gigantic city.
But while I loved playing the violin, I never loved being a clown. The makeup, the wigs, the laughter — it was all a mask. Yet, I chose it. I became The Vioker by my own decision, because no one hires a plain girl on the streets — but everyone stops for a clown.
Still, even with fame and recognition, money was short. Rent. Food. Paint for my face. Strings for my violin. Everything added up.
And I had a dream — a strange one.
Every night, I dreamt of a mansion — dark, ancient, beautiful — standing alone in the outskirts of New York. People called it “The Cave of Neverending.”
---
The Mansion in My Dreams
Once, I actually went there. An old man was standing near the iron gate. The wind howled through the trees. I asked him how much that mansion cost.
“Hundred thousand,” he said in a cracked voice.
Just a hundred thousand? For such a place? I thought it must be cursed. Nobody wanted it. But in my mind, I decided — one day, I’ll buy it. One day, it will be mine.
---
The Little Girl’s Gift
As I played that night, lost in my thoughts, a small girl came up to me. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. She looked up, smiled, and handed me a tiny wrapped gift. Before I could even say thank you, she disappeared into the crowd.
I didn’t open it. Not yet.
---
Behind the Makeup
At 11 p.m., I went home. My tiny apartment looked even smaller that night. I washed off the thick white paint, wiped away the red lipstick, and stared at my real face in the mirror.
Green eyes. Pink lips. Light freckles scattered across my nose and cheeks. My blonde hair fell softly over my shoulders. For a moment, I smiled.
If only people could see me like this, I thought. If only they knew that the clown they laugh at is actually beautiful.
My stomach growled. I rushed into the kitchen, made a sandwich, and ate quickly. Tomorrow, I decided, I’d visit a circus. Maybe they’d hire me. Maybe I could earn faster.
---
The Closed Carnival
By midnight, I was back in my clown costume — red nose, white face, colorful hair — and I walked through the cold streets. Eventually, I reached a large carnival on the city’s edge.
But it was closed. The big sign flickered weakly, and the rides stood still in silence. “Maybe it opens at 3 a.m.,” I thought.
I climbed over the small side gate and entered. The air inside felt strange, almost heavy. A few dim lights still flickered near the carousel. I found a bench and sat down to wait. The wooden bench creaked under me. My eyelids grew heavy, and without realizing it, I fell asleep.
---
The Moving Rides
When I woke up, my phone said 1:30 a.m.
Something was wrong. I heard the metallic clatter of the roller coaster. It was moving — fast — but there was no one on it. No driver, no passengers.
I stood up, trembling, and walked toward it. The wind from its speed blew my wig slightly. I pressed the emergency stop button. The machine slowed and stopped completely.
As I turned to leave, it started again — by itself. The button was still off.
A chill ran down my spine. “Who’s trying to scare a clown?” I muttered nervously, forcing a laugh.
Then, the Ferris wheel started to turn. Slowly at first. Then faster. I ran to the controls — nothing worked.
“Who is it?” I shouted. “Who’s there?”
No answer. But the rides all came alive — the carousel spinning, lights flashing, music echoing through the dark — and not a single person in sight.
Terrified, I ran back home, feeling footsteps behind me. But when I looked back — no one.
---
The Job at the Carnival
The next morning, I returned to the carnival in daylight. The laughter, the crowd, the smell of popcorn — everything felt normal. I met the manager and asked if I could perform there.
He looked surprised. “You play the violin?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling through my painted face. “And I’m The Vioker.”
He agreed instantly. “You can perform from morning till 8 p.m. We’ll pay you $10,000 a day. And if the crowd likes you, they might tip you more.”
That day, I started performing there. By night, I still played on the streets. Within days, I’d saved fifty thousand. Finally, I felt close to my dream mansion.
---
The Haunted Piano
One night, around 2 a.m., I remembered I had left my bag at the carnival. I went back. The fairground was deserted. Silent. The air was colder than usual.
As I searched for my bag, I heard something — the sound of a piano.
The tune was eerie and slow, echoing through the empty park. I felt an odd pull — fear mixed with curiosity. The sound was coming from the Haunted House.
Inside, fake ghosts hung from the ceiling. The smell of dust and rust filled the air. I followed the music until I reached a small door with a faint blue light leaking through its cracks.
When I opened it — there it was. A piano. Playing on its own. And beside it — my bag.
I smiled nervously. “Maybe it’s an automatic piano,” I thought.
I stepped inside — and the door slammed shut behind me.
I ran to the door, pulled the handle — locked.
The piano stopped playing. Silence.
“Whoever you are,” I said, my voice shaking, “don’t try to scare me. You can’t scare The Vioker.”
I pressed a few keys to distract myself. Then, one key pressed down on its own. Then another. Each time it moved, I copied the note — like it was teaching me to play.
Then, suddenly, the door creaked open by itself.
I grabbed my bag and ran. I didn’t look back. That night, I didn’t even wash off my makeup. I collapsed into bed and fell asleep in full costume.
---
The Strange Messages
In the middle of the night, my phone rang. I picked it up. Silence.
“Hello?” I whispered.
Nothing.
It rang again. I blocked the number. Then another unknown number called.
Frustrated, I answered, “Who are you? Stop calling me!”
A message appeared:
> Hi baby
Then another:
> I met you today. You’re such a beautiful lady.
I laughed. “Flirting with a clown? How charming,” I muttered and blocked the number.
---
The Cassette
Morning came. As I got ready, I noticed the little gift from the girl again. I finally unwrapped it. Inside was a small card:
> Don’t mind me.
Underneath the card was an old cassette. I decided I’d listen to it later that night.
After dressing up again in my clown suit, I went to a café. People stared, as usual. The waiter hesitated to take my order.
“One cappuccino, please,” I said gently.
Across from me, a woman was staring at me with something between fear and pity. I ignored her, sipped my coffee, and scrolled my phone — until my mind drifted back to the piano.
And that message.
And the name.
Because the voice I’d heard in that cassette… had said my name.
---
The Red Gown
That night, I made a decision.
I wouldn’t go as The Vioker this time. I would go as Aveline.
I put on a long silky red gown that reached the floor. A black choker hugged my neck. I dyed my blonde hair jet black, tied it into a messy bun, painted my nails black, and my lips red.
When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. “Tonight,” I whispered, “the clown disappears.”
At 1:55 a.m., I stepped into the empty streets, my heels clicking sharply. When I reached the carnival, the gates were locked. I slipped off my heels, climbed over, and entered quietly.
No lights this time. Only darkness and silence. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and headed for the Haunted House.
As soon as I stepped inside, a deep, low sound echoed — not music, but something between a groan and a hum. I whispered to myself, “Aveline, you are not afraid.”
The small door was locked again. I picked it open with a hairpin. Inside glowed a red light.
The piano was gone.
But there was another door.
I opened it — stairs led downward into shadows.
---
The Hidden Room
At the bottom, I found a room — huge, elegant, and strange. The walls were deep red. The carpet black. A piano stood on one side, a violin on the other.
And on the wall — a massive painting.
It was a painting of me.
The clown.
The Vioker.
Standing on a stage, violin in hand, surrounded by faceless people.
My knees weakened. I stepped closer, touched the paint. It was fresh — someone had made this recently.
“Who would paint me?” I whispered.
Then — the sound of a door opening behind me.
I turned. No one.
But I heard footsteps — slow, heavy, deliberate.
I ducked behind the piano.
A man’s boots appeared — tall, black, polished. He sat down at the piano and began to play. The melody was hauntingly familiar — the same one from the cassette.
My heart pounded. I peeked — the piano was moving, but there was no body attached to the boots.
“Excuse me…” I said, my voice trembling, “Whoever you are… can you show yourself?”
The piano stopped.
Then came a deep, cold voice — the same one from the cassette.
> “Why should I show myself? And who are you, coming here every night?”
I froze.
That voice knew my name. That voice had been in my dreams.
I turned toward the exit — but the door slammed shut with a deafening thud.
Locked again.
---
To be continued…
