In the village of Eolwyn, the story of Joculor Tenebris was a tale passed down from generation to generation, more as a warning than a comfort. But over time, the details became tinged with mysticism, making it difficult to distinguish truth from fantasy. One thing was for sure: the fear remained, even after seven centuries had passed.

By 1900, when the village of Eolwyn had grown into a small town with people busy living modern lives, the legend was considered an old superstition. Gas lamps decorated the streets, and the sound of church bells replaced the creaking of old windows in the wind. But something changed one night when a little boy named Thomas disappeared into the once-cursed woods.

A massive search was launched. Dozens of villagers combed the woods with torches and lanterns, calling Thomas's name until their voices were hoarse. In the middle of the night, they found something that made their blood run cold: an old jester's hat, covered in dust and moss, hanging from a tree branch. Nearby, the print of a small footprint had simply disappeared into the damp ground.

Silence fell over the village after the incident. Those who believed in the old story began to whisper prayers, while others consoled themselves with rational arguments. But a week later, a small bell rang in the night. The sound did not come from the church, but from the end of the street where the gas lamps were beginning to dim.

The village priest, Father Jonathan, decided to investigate. Carrying a cross and a Bible, he made his way to the source of the sound. There, he found an old man who claimed to be a descendant of Cedric the monk. The man carried an old scroll that he claimed was his ancestor's last record. The scroll read:

"He is not dead. He waits. With each tolling of the bell, he draws near. Only when darkness embraces the human soul will he rise again. Remember, if you hear laughter on a moonless night, do not seek its source. Run, or you will become part of its dance."

Father Jonathan read the writing carefully, but it was too late to realize the truth. The bells rang again, louder, as if coming from all directions. The night air grew cold, and from the shadows emerged a figure that no one who had heard his story could forget. Joculor Tenebris, in his tattered, colorful clothes, stood there. The mask of charcoal and blood still adorned his face, but his eyes radiated something more terrifying: emptiness, like a bottomless abyss.

"Have you come to stop my dance?" the clown's voice echoed, calm but menacing.

Father Jonathan tried to raise his cross, but his body was frozen. He knew this was no man. This was something born of hatred, something that could only be stopped by infinite courage or utter despair. Joculor Tenebris approached, the bells on his garments ringing softly, each step like the last second of life.

It was then, out of the darkness, that a young woman named Eleanor emerged. She was a scholar who had recently returned to the village after years of studying in the great city. Eleanor held in her hand an ancient book, wrapped in thick cloth, that she said she had found in a nearly forgotten library in the capital. The book bore strange symbols on its cover, the same symbols that were engraved on Cedric's scroll.

Eleanor opened the book and read aloud, in a language she did not even understand. The words echoed, piercing the night air like thunder. Joculor Tenebris stopped, his body shaking as if the words were thorns piercing his soul.

But the clown laughed. Not a joyful laugh, but a heartbreaking laugh, like the screams of a thousand voices trapped in the darkness.

"Do you think those words can kill me? No, I am those words. I am emptiness, I am revenge, and I am the end of those who laugh at suffering!"

But Eleanor continued to read, even as tears began to stream down her face. The words drained her strength, but she knew that to stop would be to surrender to death. Joculor Tenebris began to fade, his body turning into black smoke that swirled like a hurricane. The last bell rang, no longer a laugh, but a wail.

When the voices stopped, only Eleanor stood there, tired but alive. The forest was silent, and for the first time in centuries, no fear hung over the village of Eolwyn.

But deep in the forest, where the black smoke had cleared, a small bell remained hanging from a tree branch, swaying slowly as if waiting for the wind to come.

However, the silence did not last long. As Eleanor wiped the tears from her face, thinking that everything was over, a soft laugh came from behind the shadows. The last bell hanging on the tree began to ring softly, as if an invisible hand was shaking it.

Eleanor turned her head, a chill running down her spine. In the midst of the darkness that should have disappeared, the figure of Joculor Tenebris appeared, more real than before. His body that had been like smoke was now whole again, but with a more terrifying aura. His shabby clothes looked fresh, shining with fresh bloodstains, and his face covered in charcoal and red paint formed a wider, more sinister smile.

"You read too slowly, little girl," he said in a low but sharp voice, like a knife slicing through the air.

Eleanor tried to step back, but her feet felt heavy. The book in her hand fell, and before she could pick it up, the clown was in front of her in the blink of an eye. With a quick, dance-like movement, Joculor Tenebris swung the long knife that had previously been hidden under his clothes.

The stab was deep, right through Eleanor's stomach. She staggered, her body falling to the ground, while blood began to flow between her trembling fingers. Joculor Tenebris laughed loudly, the sound of his bells blending with the darkness of the night.

"That's the end for those who try to stop me. You are nothing more than the last entertainment in this play," he said, looking down beside Eleanor's weakening body.

But Eleanor did not give up so easily. With her last breath, her hand felt the book lying nearby. She remembered one last word she had read, a word that felt like coals in her mind. In a barely audible voice, she uttered it:

"Luxferum."

The word shook the air. A blinding white light suddenly exploded from the book in her hand, making Joculor Tenebris stagger back with a scream of pain. Her figure began to fade again, but this time she did not laugh. She struggled, trying to fight against a force she could not control.

"No! This is not over! I will return!" she screamed, her voice echoing like a thousand tortured souls.

In an instant, the clown disappeared, leaving Eleanor alone in the middle of the forest that was once again silent. However, her body was weak. She knew that her life would not last long. With the last remaining strength, she wrote something on the last page of the book in her own blood:

"He will return, but light is the key. Only those who have the courage to fight the darkness can stop his last laugh."

Eleanor smiled weakly before finally taking her last breath. Her body was found by the villagers the next day, lying in the middle of the forest with the book by her side.

The legend of Joculor Tenebris and Eleanor's sacrifice became a story that continued to be remembered by new generations. But where the last bell hung, a small tinkling sound could still be heard on a moonless night, reminding everyone that the deadly laughter had not truly ended.

Continued