It was a typical Friday night. Adarsh’s parents were out of town, and four friends — Adarsh, Vishal, Aakash, and Tony — had gathered at his place. They were bored, scrolling through memes, eating chips, and laughing at random videos.
“Bro, let’s try Omegle,” Vishal said suddenly. “Maybe we’ll meet some cute girls.”
Tony laughed. “Yeah, let’s see who’s online tonight.”
Aakash looked uneasy. “My brother told me to stay away from sites like that. People say weird stuff happens there.”
Adarsh smirked. “It’s just a chat site, man. Don’t be so scared. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
They all gathered around the computer as Adarsh typed omegle.com and hit enter. The idea was simple — random strangers from around the world, chatting live. It sounded harmless. But soon, their laughter faded as Vishal mentioned something that chilled the room.
“Do you guys remember that guy who went missing last year? The one who used Omegle right before he disappeared?”
Everyone went quiet. Vishal continued, “They said he was talking to some woman who claimed to practice black magic. His parents found his room locked from the inside. The computer was still on. Omegle was still open. But he was gone.”
Tony swallowed hard. “Gone… as in?”
“They never found his body. Just some candles, a half-cut lemon, and his webcam on.”
Adarsh tried to brush it off with a laugh. “Probably fake news. But… what if we find that black magic lady? Maybe we can see what he saw.”
Aakash shook his head. “Don’t be stupid.”
But curiosity won. Adarsh typed “black magic” into Omegle’s interest box and pressed start.
The screen flickered. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a face appeared.
It was a woman — beautiful, mysterious, and terrifyingly calm. She wore a black saree. Her eyes and lips were jet black, and her background was dimly lit with candles and something glowing orange — a pumpkin with strange markings carved into it.
“Hello, boys,” she said softly, her voice oddly hypnotic.
They exchanged awkward greetings. Her tone was smooth, almost inviting. “Do you believe in the power of the dark?” she asked.
Before they could respond, she said, “Let’s try a little ritual. It’s harmless. Just repeat what I say and hold each other’s hands.”
Aakash frowned. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Adarsh rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s just fun. Don’t chicken out.”
They held hands. The woman whispered, “Light, I surrender myself to you. I am now yours.”
They repeated after her, laughing nervously.
Then she picked up a lemon and sliced it. The juice that spilled out wasn’t clear — it was red, like blood.
She smiled. “Perfect.”
From under the table, she lifted four small black dolls, each tagged with one of their names — Adarsh, Vishal, Aakash, and Tony.
She dripped the red liquid on them. Suddenly, the air around them grew cold.
Adarsh tried to joke, but his voice trembled. “It’s just a trick, right?”
The woman pressed ash on one doll’s forehead. Instantly, a black mark appeared on Aakash’s forehead. He gasped, trying to wipe it off, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What the hell is happening?!” he screamed.
The woman leaned closer to the camera, her eyes now glowing white. She tilted the webcam slightly, revealing the background behind her.
There, in the candlelight, was a decaying body — a woman’s corpse slumped on a chair, surrounded by blood and melted wax. The pumpkin flickered beside it.
Tony’s stomach turned. Vishal froze.
“You gave yourselves to me,” the woman whispered. “If you turn off this computer, you all die.”
Aakash reached forward and slammed the laptop shut.
A piercing scream echoed through the room — not from the laptop, but from Aakash himself. Blood sprayed across the floor as his arm was torn off at the elbow. The others stumbled back in horror.
The laptop screen flickered back on by itself. The woman was still there, smiling. “One more move,” she said coldly, “and I’ll slit all your throats through the dolls.”
She raised Aakash’s doll and began chanting. The connection glitched, but her words cut through the static.
“If you want to live,” she said, “do exactly as I say.”
Her voice was calm but commanding. “Cut your tongue and offer your blood to me.”
“No!” Aakash screamed. “You’re not real!”
The woman tilted her head, then sliced the doll’s neck. Aakash’s body convulsed — and his head rolled off, blood flooding the floor.
The others screamed, stumbling toward the door. Vishal grabbed the handle — locked.
“Please, stop!” Tony cried.
The woman turned to Vishal’s doll and twisted its leg backward. Vishal screamed in agony as his leg bent at an impossible angle, bones snapping audibly.
“Now,” she said softly, “cut it off.”
Vishal sobbed, shaking violently. “I can’t… please.”
Adarsh finally realized this wasn’t a prank, or a virus, or any trick. It was something ancient. Something dark. They had summoned something they couldn’t understand.
The lights began flickering. Tony dropped to his knees, praying, his voice breaking.
The woman stared straight into the camera. “You offered yourselves,” she whispered. “You are mine.”
When the police found them hours later, the house was silent. The computer screen was black, but four figures sat motionless on the floor, hands joined, faces frozen in terror.
On the desk were four black dolls, stitched with their names. The pumpkin still burned faintly, its carved face smiling.
And on the screen, before it finally went dark, one message blinked in red letters:
“Never summon what you don’t understand.”
