NOTE: You can listen to these stories at my podcast page, via Patreon (paid subscribers get bonus content and early access), and on YouTube. 

A teenager.
Portland. Twenty twenty-five. October seventeenth.

My friends dared me to play Bloody Mary. Stupid, right? Lights out, candle lit, three whispers. I said no. Then I said yes because no one wants to be the chicken.

We crowded into the bathroom. The mirror flickered. My reflection didn’t move. Hers. Not mine.

Her mouth twisted. She mouthed run.

The candle guttered. Everyone screamed, pushed, laughed too loud. But I wasn’t laughing. Because I saw her hand press flat against the glass. The shape of my hand, but older. Angrier.

I blew out the candle. I told them we were done. But when I left, the mirror still glowed faint, like it wanted another chance.