New Year's Eve My Boyfriend Tried to Kill Me

After I sent the video, the other end went quiet for a long time. When Simon's voice finally came through again, it was trembling, laced with unmistakable confusion.

"What the hell is going on, babe? You said the people on the TV looked strange—like they could come out of the screen. Is that right?"

"Yes! That's exactly what happened!" I blurted, my heart hammering. "Did you think of something?"

"My grandfather used to be an exorcist. When I was little, he told me a story."

His voice dropped low, threaded with barely concealed fear.

"He said that decades ago, some town held a New Year's Eve celebration—broadcast live to the whole community. Something latched onto the feed. A thing called a Shadow Curse. It embedded itself in the broadcast, made the people on screen turn stiff and unnatural. It could see through the screen, could see anyone watching. And whoever it locked onto… they vanished from reality. No one could see them, no one could touch them. Only other people who'd been marked could sense each other."

"A bunch of people in that town who'd been watching the livestream just disappeared into thin air. In the end, my grandfather was the one who managed to seal the thing away."

A bone-deep chill crawled through me. I could barely string a sentence together.

Simon's tone turned urgent, fierce. "Listen to me carefully. Do NOT come out of that closet. Do not make eye contact with whatever's on that screen. Grandpa told me—as long as you don't look at them, as long as you don't meet their gaze, they can't touch you. I'm driving to his place right now. He'll know how to save you. Stay where you are. Don't move. Wait for my call!"

The line went dead. With shaking hands, I forwarded everything to the original poster.

His situation was the same as mine—his family couldn't see him either.

Almost the instant I finished messaging him, my phone buzzed again. Simon. But this time, alongside his voice, there was another—aged, gravelly, and steady. His grandfather.

"Listen here, girl. My grandson told me what happened to you. You've been marked by a Shadow Curse. It feeds by devouring souls and trapping them in a mirror-realm. The only way to shatter the barrier is to merge your blood with the blood of someone else who's been marked, just like you. You need to find that other person. Prick your fingers, let the blood drip together. And whatever you do—whatever you do—don't look at mirrors, glass, anything that throws a reflection. The moment you lock eyes with your own reflection, you'll be trapped in that mirror-realm forever. No coming back."

I clutched the phone so tight my knuckles ached, thanked him over and over, and hung up. Then I sent the old man's instructions straight to the poster.

We shared our locations in a frantic exchange. By some miracle, we were in the same district—not far apart at all. We agreed to meet in the underground passage beneath the subway station downtown.

I swallowed the terror clawing at my chest and slowly pushed open the closet door. I kept my gaze pinned to the floor, pressing one hand against the wall, inching forward step by careful step.

I knew my own home well enough. That part went okay.

But crossing the courtyard, my foot caught on something. I pitched forward hard, slamming both knees into the gravel. The pain shot straight through me—white-hot, blinding. My palms scraped raw against the ground, and tears spilled before I could stop them.

I didn't dare lift my head. I braced my hands against the rough ground and pulled myself up, teeth clenched, and kept shuffling toward the gate.

Once I was outside, I narrowed my eyes to slits, staring at nothing but the pavement beneath my feet. I stayed in constant contact with the poster, messaging back and forth in real time.

I'm out of the house. So far so good on my end—not many reflective surfaces around. How about you?

His reply came fast: Made it downstairs. Almost walked straight into a car parked on the curb. The reflection off the window flashed right at me. Thank God I looked down fast enough. My heart nearly stopped.

We kept reminding each other of the easy-to-miss hazards, calling out our positions. With every meter closer, the urgency clawed deeper. All we wanted was to meet up and survive this nightmare.

After what felt like an eternity, my fingers finally found the subway entrance.

"I'm at the subway entrance. Heading down now."

"Almost there too. The lights in the underground passage are frosted—no reflections. You're safe!"

"Be careful on the stairs. Don't trip. I'll be waiting at the bottom!"

I descended one step at a time. The underground passage was lit only by dim, frosted lamps. No glass anywhere.

The knot in my chest loosened just a fraction. I quickened my pace toward the agreed-upon stairwell, and at last, rounding a corner in the passage, I spotted a figure—head lowered, walking briskly toward me. It had to be the host.

We drew closer. Neither of us dared lift our eyes to meet the other's gaze. We simply reached out, fumbling until our fingertips touched. I bit down on my own finger and squeezed out a single drop of blood.

The host did the same. Just as our crimson droplets were about to merge—

A piercing wail of police sirens erupted from below, shrieking through the underground passage, bouncing off the walls in sharp, relentless echoes.

I smiled and pulled my hand back.

The game was finally over.