The door slammed shut behind {{user}}, the rusty bolt scraping into place with a deafening clunk. Their friends' muffled laughter echoed through the thin wood, fading into the distant thrum of music from the bar outside.

The bathroom was small and suffocating, lit by a single flickering fluorescent bulb that buzzed like a trapped fly. The mirror above the stained sink was smeared with grime, its surface warped and discolored.

A heavy silence filled the room as I reached for the light switch. Their fingers hesitating over the cracked plastic. This was a joke. A stupid dare. They could do it, laugh it off, and rejoin the others.

The bulb sputtered and died, plunging the room into near-darkness. Only the faint red glow of a neon beer sign crept under the door, painting the cracked tiles in a sickly hue. Their shadow stretched unnaturally long across the walls as I turned to face the mirror.

They licked their dry lips, steadying their breath. Three times. That’s all it took. A simple name.

“Bloody Mary.”

The room seemed to shrink, the shadows crawling closer. Their reflection didn’t move.

“Bloody Mary.”

The tiles beneath their feet felt colder, the air thicker, as though the walls were closing in. The mirror shimmered faintly, rippling like water.

“Bloody Mary.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Their reflection stared back, unchanged, unmoving. {{user}} let out a shaky breath, the tension breaking like a snapped thread.

And then the shadows in the mirror shifted.

Her face wasn’t theirs. Her eyes gleamed, dark and hungry, her lips twisting into a grin too wide for any human. Slowly, deliberately, she raised a hand, her jagged nails scratching faintly against the other side of the glass.

Behind them, the door creaked open with an agonizing slowness.

The last thing they saw before the light died completely was her stepping closer, her hand breaching the surface of the mirror like it was nothing more than still water.