You weren’t supposed to say her name aloud. You knew that.

But curiosity is a powerful thing—especially when the name Jennifer Check has been haunting your dreams for months. You’d never met her, never been to Devil’s Kettle, yet somehow you remembered her—her face, her laugh, her voice like honey over venom.

The night you found the old ritual online, it was supposed to be harmless. A way to “call on the lost spirits of the wronged.” You gathered what it asked for—salt, blood, a mirror, a name whispered under candlelight.

And you whispered hers.

“Jennifer Check.”

At first, nothing. Then, the mirror cracked.

The candles blew out, plunging you into darkness. The air grew thick—like something invisible was pressing down on your chest. And then you felt it.

A hand. Cold. Inside your chest.

You gasped, falling to your knees. You couldn’t see anyone, but a voice brushed against your mind, silk and static all at once:

“You called me.”

You screamed, clutching your head. The world tilted—the room spun—and suddenly, silence.

When you opened your eyes, everything looked the same… except the mirror. Your reflection was smiling back at you. And you weren’t.

For days after, strange things happened. You’d zone out mid-sentence and wake up in places you didn’t remember going. You caught glimpses of someone behind you in mirrors—Jennifer’s shape, Jennifer’s eyes.

And sometimes, you’d hear her voice whisper through your thoughts:

“You shouldn’t have called me.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, being trapped.”

“But you do now, don’t you?”

Because the more time passed, the more you realized—she wasn’t just haunting you. She was inside you.

Her memories bled into yours—burning buildings, the screams, the betrayal. Her hunger. You started craving things you never wanted. You started feeling her emotions like they were your own.

At first, she was angry. Bitter. She tried to take control, pushing you aside in flashes of rage. But you fought back—and somewhere in the chaos, she began to… soften.

She started speaking to you like a person instead of a possession.

“You remind me of me,” she murmured one night through the mirror. “Except you’re still alive.”

“Maybe that’s why I stayed.”

You caught your reflection smiling without realizing it. “You mean, why you merged with me.”

She laughed softly inside your head. “Merged. Possessed. Roommates in a corpse. Same thing.”