In the north of England, the village of Gresham, forgotten even by God, awoke to a gloomy morning with its misty streets and church bells that sounded like swallowed prayers. A name that everyone knew but no one spoke of lived on in whispers: The Tarot Killer.
His real name was Memo. He was a retired soldier. A respected man. Once serving in one of the kingdom's most honorable units, he lost his wife and two children in a bloody uprising on the Western Front. Their bodies were found at the base of a farmhouse wall, their heads in one place, their bodies in another. From that day on, Memo was never the same man again.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlS4TtBupl2
Unable to find any god to ease his pain, he turned to other paths. Secret societies, occultist groups gathering in cemeteries, and ancient books filled with entities summoned by whispers in Latin, mystical spells, and occultism became his new companions. Over time, tarot cards would become more than just a fortune-telling tool for him—they would transform into something entirely different.
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Memo could never forget that terrible night. The moment he found his wife and two children dead in a pool of blood was the turning point of his life. From that moment on, as his world darkened, his faith in God crumbled; prayers and supplications lost their meaning one by one. Memo, immersed in darkness, found solace only in old books, mysterious symbols, and forbidden rituals. He turned to the occult, establishing a new order for himself in the enigmatic world of cards, stars, and ancient languages.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoGDgstC5bV
Years passed, but the storm in Memo's soul did not subside. Still, he struggled to put his life back on track. He found simple jobs in the village; he worked as a carpenter, occasionally labored in the fields, and most importantly, he made an effort not to lose touch with people. Sometimes he would sit with old friends at the village café, recounting memories from the war days, laughing as they reminisced about the past. From the outside, Memo appeared to be someone trying to heal his wounds, slowly continuing with his life. He began working in a small blacksmith’s workshop in Gresham. The heat of the iron and the crackling of the fire brought him a kind of relief. Every piece he worked on with his hands helped to suppress the darkness within him. His coworkers liked him; Memo quickly earned their trust by demonstrating the discipline and generosity of a former soldier. At night, he was alone with his cards. He continued those dark rituals he couldn’t share with anyone, not even himself. He walked a fine line between the two sides of his life: a village life filled with ordinary people during the day, and nights that opened the doors to dark spells and mysterious powers. The tragedy that never left Memo’s mind accompanied him throughout his life. And while he was trying to build his life, the reckoning inside him grew darker and darker. Even as he walked through the quiet streets of Gresham, he felt as if he could see the ghosts of his family around every corner. These ghosts would eventually force him to surrender to the dark forces within himself.
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When Memo was a guest in someone's home, he would chat with everyone warmly as the evening conversation progressed, smiling and sharing memories. But as the night wore on, a strange change would slowly begin to take place in the atmosphere of the house. The flames of the candles would flicker slightly, and a cold wind would howl outside the windows. Though the people were unaware of it, the dark movements at the corners of their eyes and the slightly shifting shadows made them feel that an uneasy energy was circulating in the house. By morning, the host or another guest would notice that something was missing. It was usually a small object that seemed insignificant but held meaning for its owner: an old necklace, a written letter, a forgotten handkerchief, or a cherished rosary. Sometimes, other guests who had left the house before Memo would forget an item behind; though everyone in the village knew about these incidents, no one spoke of them directly. Because those objects were not merely physical items; they were the small stones of Memo’s silent ritual, his dark magic. On those nights, as things disappeared from the houses, pieces of the souls were also torn away. Among the villagers, there was a belief that spread: “When Memo is a guest in your house, he takes a piece with him and leaves a piece of you behind.” This “piece” was as much a material object as it was an expression of a spiritual bond, a dark contract. And strangely enough, those missing objects carried meaning; they were the silent witnesses of a dark fate, unforgettable sins.
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During that period when Memo thought he had put his life back on track, dark shadows slowly began to creep into his soul. At first, they were just occasional dreams, but over time they turned into nightmares that he could no longer distinguish from reality. At night, when he closed his eyes, he felt as though he were walking through a labyrinth filled with dark figures and symbols; faceless beings, whispering voices, and shimmering tarot cards… These were no longer just dreams; they were with him even when he was awake. Hallucinations, flickering shadows, and cold, invisible hands reaching out from the corners of the room were slowly eating away at Memo’s mind. Even under the light of day, Memo couldn’t escape these dark visions and began to isolate himself from others. He locked himself in his home, barricading the doors; the outside world had become a hell for him. There were times when he didn't go outside for days, even weeks. In this solitude, he immersed himself in old books, ancient inscriptions, and secret occult texts. He performed rituals, silently conversed with his cards, and lost himself in the depths of fate. The tarot cards had become his guide, the mirror of his destiny. The symbols he saw in each card, the vibrations he felt in each illustration, were pulling him toward a new path. And that path was dark, cold, and filled with death. The mental state Memo had fallen into had turned into a magical dance filled with dark energies; he could no longer stop. One night, guided by the symbols he saw in his dreams, he went to an old village house. There, responding to a call from the depths of his soul, he committed his first murder. Beside the victim, he left a tarot card chosen to match his personality and state of mind: “The Hanged Man.” This card symbolized surrender, transformation, and rebirth—just like the change Memo was experiencing in his own soul. Each new murder revealed a little more of the darkness within his soul. He did not choose his victims at random; the weaknesses, fears, and secret sins he saw in them were the source of Memo's dark inspiration. Each one was a reflection of his confrontation with his own demons. The murders, sometimes brutal, sometimes ritualistic, were shaped by Memo's occult knowledge and the esoteric meanings of the tarot. After each murder, the tarot card left beside the victim became his mysterious signature. The “Death” card symbolized the end of someone's life, while the “Devil” card represented the victim's dark desires and addictions. Over time, a thin veil remained between Memo's dark world and his real life. From the outside, he was still the man who smiled and chatted with his old friends. But at night, he had become a death angel, lost in the silent rule of darkness, writing his own fate.
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His second victim was Matthew, the embodiment of greed and ambition. A wealthy merchant, he had harmed many people in pursuit of power and wealth. Memo had been following Matthew for a long time; every night, he observed his loneliness disappearing under the splendor of his palaces in the dark streets. One night, he entered Matthew's mansion uninvited. In the silence of the night, he caught the man; without taking his breath away, he ended his life with a sharp knife moving toward his heart, like an old ritual. The card he left beside the body was The Devil. This card symbolized his obsession with passion, captivity, and addiction. The body was found in the shape of the card, with its feet chained and hands bound behind its back. Matthew’s soul would remain captive in Memo’s justice forever.
The Third Victim36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsDjC4OhWfU
Edward, a young and hopeful painter. He was someone who reflected the colors of life and the purest form of emotions on canvas. Memo had sensed Edward's inner fragility and helplessness toward life. He sneaked into the painter's studio at night; silently, slowly, and mercilessly, he ended his life. The card he left behind at the scene of this murder was The Hanged Man. This card, symbolizing sacrifice and surrender, reflected Edward's surrender of his soul and the conflict he had with life. His body was found hanging upside down; a rope was elegantly wrapped around it.
The Fourth Victim36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6ZKwOr2Jev
Clara, heir to a wealthy family in the village, was also a dark figure with secret passions. Memo sensed the turmoil within Clara, who represented both love and betrayal. He frequently visited her home, heard her secrets, and learned her weaknesses. Clara was found with her throat slit in a room full of mirrors during Memo's last visit. The card she left behind was The Lovers; this card, representing love and betrayal, loyalty and separation, was at the heart of Clara's tragedy. The body was placed among the broken mirrors; like shattered realities.
Fifth Victim36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn1j2D9HjwG
Judith was the former headmistress of the monastery school in Gresham. Although she was known on the surface as a kind and disciplined person, Memo had seen her true face elsewhere. She was someone who made children run away in fear, her eyes glowing in the dark. The punishments she inflicted on the weak were born not of conscience but of fear. The Tarot Killer entered Judith's home in the early hours of the morning. The doors were wide open, as if they knew he was coming and were waiting for him. Judith was standing in a room filled with prayers, looking out the window. When the Killer appeared behind her, she didn't even turn around. “God will judge me,” she said. The Tarot Killer whispered, “God is silent; the cards will speak.” Then he wrapped a thin wire around her neck and cut off her breath. As Judith collapsed to the ground, the Justice card was beside her. Her body was laid out in front of an old scale; a Bible was placed on one side of the scale, and a broken ruler on the other. The balance was broken. Just like the false imbalance of justice in her life.
The Sixth Victim 36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwGLPEDxWXk
The twin siblings Thomas and Elsie were young people living outside the town. Though they led a seemingly innocent, reclusive life on the surface, the Tarot Killer had witnessed their “spiritual games.” They often wandered through cemeteries, claiming to speak with the dead. According to accounts, while one spoke, the other silently wept, then they would switch roles. They shared an odd bond, unable to separate from one another yet unwilling to approach anyone else. The Killer followed them. One night in the forest, he saw them secretly gathering at the ruins of an old stone temple. They moved as if praying in the moonlight. That night, the Tarot Killer silently approached them. He first gave Thomas the symbolic turn to speak. He silently strangled him. As Elsie screamed, he embraced her, looked into her eyes, and said, “Now it's your turn to speak.” He left the two bodies in a circular symbol, their faces turned toward each other. The card in the middle was The Moon. This card is associated with illusion, the subconscious, and deceptive realities. It symbolized the twisted bond between them and their lives filled with illusions.
The Seventh Victim 36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCzh4OaAMPP
The town's priest, Callahan, had been someone who claimed to represent faith for years. However, in the eyes of the Tarot Killer, he saw not light but emptiness. His prayers were false. His words of comfort to people were memorized. When he heard the whispers echoing in the dark rooms of the church, he sensed the stench of decay within him.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNkVlLWklRV
The killer went to the church during the day. The service was over, and everyone had left. Callahan was praying alone in front of the altar. The Tarot Killer slowly approached him from behind. “You're praying, but no one is answering you, are they?” he said. When the priest turned in fear, the Killer struck him with a marble candlestick, knocking him to the ground. His body lay on the altar, his hands in a praying position. The Hierophant card rested on his chest. This card traditionally represents traditional belief systems, teachers, and religious authority. But it was upside down. Callahan’s faith had turned upside down, rotted away.
The Eighth Victim36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNr9NQulk9G
Agatha was an elderly seamstress. Although she was known as a quiet, kind woman, the Tarot Killer remembered her as the woman who had cast a spell on his mother years ago. In her youth, she had been rumored to be a witch in the village, but she had somehow managed to quell those rumors. But Memo had not forgotten. The dark light still shone in her eyes.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNsFI4t3Fan
One night, when he entered her house, she was sitting at her sewing machine. “Fabrics have souls, you know,” said the Tarot Killer, stroking an old, torn apron on the table. The woman lifted her old glasses and whispered, “You saw me years ago, didn't you?” The killer nodded. He plunged the sewing machine needle into the woman's palm. Then he slowly pressed the knife into her heart. Her body lay in the middle of the room, among flower-patterned fabrics. The Death card was on top of her. This card signifies rebirth, inevitable end, and transformation. The darkness in Agatha's past was now buried.
The Tarot Killer's last victim was an old healer. Some in Gresham called her a witch. She was old, mute, and had hollow eyes, but she never harmed anyone. Her body was found in a pentagram drawn with haystacks in front of her house. The card she held was “The High Priestess”—the card of secret knowledge and intuition. In Tarot language, she was the key to the door leading to the unknown.
This murder caused a rift among the people. They began to cling to prayers, salt circles, and blessed amulets. Whispers once again brought the name of the Tarot Killer into the night, but no one dared to say it aloud.
And then… silence.
Gresham breathed a sigh of relief. The murders stopped. The Tarot Killer was never seen again. A year passed. The people of Gresham tried to forget the events. The police did not close the case, but they buried their hopes. A silence prevailed.
Until a priest in the Yorkshire countryside found a naked body left on the altar of an old monastery. There were carved marks on his neck. On his chest, a card pinned with a silver needle: “The Hierophant”—the symbol of authority, religious order, and tradition. The priest was dead. The Tarot Killer had returned. The police reopened the files. This time, the murder had been committed a hundred kilometers away. But the method… was exactly the same. Moreover, an envelope arrived at the station. Inside was only a card: “The Fool” — symbolizing new beginnings, foolishness, and blind courage. On the back of the card was written:
“You cannot know what you carry when you set out. Some burdens are weighed by the soul.”
With this note, the legend of the Tarot Killer had now spread not just to a region but to time itself. As the police tried to understand these murders, the Tarot Killer was moving through the shadows in another village, another town, choosing a new card.
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The second victim was a man known as the town’s moral guardian. A devout, authoritarian preacher who looked down on the people, the killer followed him one evening as he left the church. Then, in the darkness, among the rotting fences beside the old cemetery, he slit his throat and left the “Judgment” card on top. The card symbolized rebirth and the day of reckoning.
And then… another envelope arrived at the police station.
This time, it contained “The Magician” card. On the back was a single sentence:
"All the tools were in my hands. I just waited for the right time.”
3. Victims Frank and Layla – “The Lovers”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaBfbouGKeR
Two young lovers. They met outside the town, in an abandoned mill. When their bodies were found in the morning, they were lying hand in hand, surrounded by a circle of blood. A card was placed on their chests: The Lovers.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBaLI4cEmmG
The police found the following note on the young couple:
“True love is a decision. They made the wrong decision."
4. Victim Thomas – ‘The Emperor’36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXe51KlCEdt
A local lord. A rich, oppressive man who despised his workers. His body was found in the library of his mansion. He was leaning back on his throne. His eyes had been gouged out, and a crown had been left on his head. The card attached to his knee read: The Emperor.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe89NMfne6n
Note:
“Thrones not only elevate those who sit upon them, but also weigh down those who fall from them.”
5. Victim Steven – “The Hermit”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhn9EP41Ncg
A solitary astrologer. He spent his nights observing the stars, living apart from people. His body was found kneeling at his telescope, surrounded by candles. The card in his hand: The Hermit.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1ofoNyNA84
Note:
“Seeking wisdom is a virtue. But burning in one’s own light is a curse.”
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The police couldn’t make sense of the events. Their sole purpose was to catch this killer, but the Tarot Killer was always one step ahead...
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CHAPTER 2
Yorkshire's gray sky, along with the fog settling on the ground, enveloped the city like a gloomy blanket. As the wind whistled through the chimneys of the old stone houses, a distant church bell seemed to awaken the sins of the sleeping rather than announce the hours. In recent weeks, there was only one word on everyone's lips in the city. A name whispered and suppressed by prayers: the Tarot Killer.
Years had passed since the murders in Gresham, but the echoes of horror had not faded. Now, new deaths committed in the same manner were spreading through Yorkshire like black ink. The bodies were found in positions no one could explain; their eyes open, their hands twisted into symbols; beside them lay tarot cards carefully placed. The cards left for the victims were more terrifying than their deaths. Because each one seemed to carry the echo of a crime or suppressed sin that had occurred long before the deaths.
That's why a special name was sent from London. Her name was Detective Rosaline Ashcroft.
Although the laws were not open to female detectives at the time, Rosaline had proven that exceptions were always as powerful as rules. With her intelligence and unwavering intuition, she had taken on secret missions within Scotland Yard, solving symbols and silent clues in complex murders that her male colleagues couldn’t crack, thereby making a name for herself. Now, she had been called in to find the Tarot Killer.
When Rosaline arrived in Yorkshire, she sensed something was amiss from the moment she set foot there. Every street was silent. Shops closed early, and people hurried to cover their windows. Women didn’t let their children out onto the streets, and even men looked over their shoulders when venturing out at night. Death roamed the city like an invisible god.
When she first opened the file, what she saw was not just a body—it was almost like a duel invitation. The Tarot Killer had not left a card at the crime scene this time. Instead, there was an envelope sent directly to the police station. There was no name or seal on it. Just a single card: The Fool. A man wearing a crown walked along the edge of a cliff, while a dog behind him tried to warn him.
On the back of the card, written in black ink, was only this:
“The stage is set. Let’s see which mask you’ll dance with, Ashcroft?”
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Rosaline placed the card in the file with a faint smile on her face. She knew the game had begun. The Tarot Killer's sole purpose was not to kill, but to leave a mark. He wanted someone with the intelligence to notice him. Perhaps he wanted to be stopped by someone in the end... Or perhaps the opposite: to find a smarter hunter and draw him into his own madness.
When she saw the first body, a strange chill ran through her. The victim was a middle-aged carpenter. His hands were clasped over his chest, his eyes staring upward in a final moment of shock. His body seemed to have offered almost no resistance. Next to him lay The Hanged Man card. This card, representing the “victim,” depicted a man hanging upside down by his neck; it symbolized change, surrender, and spiritual awakening. Rosaline realized this was a message: The killer valued the victim's surrender, creating a harmony between the death and the card. The carpenter had kicked one of the town's young men out of his house a few days earlier under the pretext of debt, and the boy's mother had suffered a heart attack. In the Tarot Killer's eyes, this was an external manifestation of internal guilt.
The second body was more striking. A young preacher. His tongue had been cut out, and his hands were bound in a prayer position. The Hierophant card lay beside him—it represented traditional faith, religious authority, and the transmitter of knowledge. But Memo had used the card in a mocking way. Rumors circulated that the preacher had behaved inappropriately toward young girls in the past. The Tarot Killer did not merely kill; he also judged and “sealed with the right card.”
Rosaline saw a new call in each card. The killer was forcing her to dance. Each body caused Rosaline to confront her own shadows. Because she wasn't an ordinary person either. Her own family had been buried in similar secrets in the past; her mother had died in a mental hospital, and her father had disappeared into the midst of a mysterious society. This case was also awakening old cracks within her. The Tarot Killer was smiling in the darkness. He had sensed Rosaline's arrival. Now he had a real spectator. The cards were being chosen more carefully. The murders had become more symbolic, more precise. The Lovers, The Devil, Death… Each was a silent letter sent to Rosaline. And one night, as Rosaline sat alone in her room, she was startled by a card falling from an envelope through the window. The card was The Moon. Fears, dreams, illusions, the edge of madness. The killer was no longer just playing with her mind. He was trying to draw her into her own dark reflection.
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As Rosaline Ashcroft read the Tarot Killer's cards that spoke of death, she realized something: This was not a series of murders, but a narrative. Each corpse, each symbol was a word. The killer was writing her with these cards. He was drawing Rosaline into his own story through the sins of the people he had killed, turning her into a card as well.
And then the envelope arrived. Simpler than the others, but just as shocking.
“A farewell befitting a king...”
The King of Swords card emerged from the envelope. On the back, in fine print, it read:
“There is no king now. It’s the vizier’s turn. But be careful, there is no throne in this game, only a fall.”
Rosaline understood immediately. This time, the message was not indirect. The card was clearly targeting her. The killer was not mocking her this time; he was calling her.
A second card appeared, indicating the meeting place at an abandoned mansion outside the city: The Tower. It was the card of destruction, collapse, and enlightenment. The most chaotic symbol in the Tarot. A lightning bolt strikes the tower on the card, and as people fall, their faces melt into darkness. When Rosaline took the card in her hand, she trembled involuntarily. Because no matter what happened, nothing would ever be the same after this meeting.
The mansion was built from stones forgotten by time. As she stepped inside, the damp scent of books mixed with the aroma of burnt resin burned her lungs. Everything was silent. Only the wooden floor echoed Rosaline’s footsteps.
In the center of the large hall, a table stood with the entire spread of the Tarot deck laid out on it. Beside it stood the Tarot Killer.
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"Welcome, Rosaline," he said, as if welcoming an old friend.
Rosaline did not reach for her gun. He knew that this war would end not with a bullet, but with a mind.
”You are ill," she said, in a firm but not tremulous voice. “This is a heresy. A madness that has put on the mask of justice.” The Tarot Killer smiled. He slowly pulled out a card and left it on the table: Justice. “What is justice, Rosaline? Is it a law written by kings, or by the spirit?”
A duel began between the two that lasted for minutes. Dec. With words, with looks, with old wounds. The Tarot Killer told about his past — his family, his losses, the silence of the God he believed in, and then the truth that he found: Every person deserved his own card.
Rosaline ;“If you continue this... a truly eternal darkness will swallow you up. You can't go back.”
The Tarot Killer drew The World card in response. The end of the cycle. Completion. Infinity. "I have already returned, Rosaline. But you still don't understand. I'm not the only one in this story. You were a card too. The moment you chose this, you became part of my game.”
The lamps of the hall were extinguished in an instant. As a shadow rising from the floor enveloped Rosaline, the Killer's face appeared for the last time in the moonlight coming from behind.The last ritual of the Tarot Killer has been completed.
A week later, when the police arrived at the mansion, they could not find any body or a trace inside. There was only one card on the table. The High Priestess - secrets, subconscious, ancient knowledge. On the back of the card was written the following: "The eyes have seen, the heart has felt, but the mind has never been able to comprehend. The last dance is over. The tarot fell silent.”
The Tarot Killer never appeared again. Rosaline Ashcroft's file has been closed. As a missing person. Not a trace of her body or a trace of her has been found. The killings have stopped. Silence has returned to Yorkshire. But on misty mornings, the old people still look at the window and say: “He is still watching. The cards may have been shuffled... but he still has the deck.”
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