“You’re wrong.”
The voice croons, “You’re going to hell.”
I grit my teeth, rolling over in my bed, “Stop it.”
It sings, “You’re going to hell.”
You’re going to hell.

The first night was unseasonably cold. A summer night, but cold all the same, with a biting breeze and something that made me shiver. I woke up screaming, sweat melting from my forehead as I yanked off my blankets, heart staggering, and crumbled into the bathroom.
I had washed my face. “Come on,” I urged the pale reflection in the mirror, hair matted with sleep. “Man up. Seriously, dude, it’s just a nightmare.”
I hadn’t been able to move. I stood there, frozen as the icy chill again swept over me, permeating every pore of my body. When lights started to form in the corners of my vision, I bolted for my bed.
It was 2:33am on a Saturday morning. U up?
Cara’s response was quick as fire, the phone buzzing in my hands too loudly for the stillness of the night. Wat do u think?
Just checking. I texted back.
No duh. Y r u encroaching upon my movie night?
I swallowed. Couldn’t fall asleep, I guess.
She didn’t answer for a few minutes. Then, the vibration returned. Come over. I’ve got Jaws on.
U serious?
R u seventeen or wat? Get ur butt over here. Better than lying awake all night.

“Okay, now I’m starting to get worried about you,” Cara pulls her auburn hair into a ponytail. She plucks a scarlet lipstick from her purse, scrutinizing herself in the compact mirror as she smears it on. That girlie stuff. “It’s been two months.”
I argue, “It has not. Maybe two weeks. ”
She nods vigorously, “You’re an idiot sometimes. This started the last few days of August. Remember—”
            My cheeks flash hot. “Of course I remember. Jaws.” I added slyly, “And how you sat there downing the tub of chocolate ice cream.”
            She flicks her hand and shoves her makeup away. “That’s beside the point,” she says, “The thing is, you’ve been getting absolutely no sleep for months. You look like a zombie.” I inhale sharply, images of th-the thing creeping through my mind. She notices, “Hey, no offense, you baby. My point is to—I dunno, go to the doctor. Get some sleeping pills. Something.” She frowns, glancing at the time on her phone.
          “What is it?” I ask.
          “Nothing,” she says, “Geez, Mom’s gotta get a life. I need to go run an errand for her or else she’ll never shut up again.”
          I smile, thinking of Mrs. Hughes and how she used to make Cara and me mixed lemonade and ready-to-bake cookies in the summertime. Cara shuts her locker and leans over, pecking me on the cheek.
          I stare at her as she struts away, her ponytail swinging like a rope behind her, a warmth glowing inside of me like honey. I lift my hand to my cheek, wiping of the scarlet stain she left behind, and for some reason, I can’t stop grinning.

Tomorrow is my birthday. October 30.
“Get ready,” the thing cackles, “this is the year it’ll all go wrong.”
“Shut up,” I say to myself. I sit up, looking in my bedroom mirror, and click on the light. And again, the thing watches me with a sick fascination. It licks its lips.
“You just wait and see.”
Shut. Up.
“She won’t deserve it. No, it’ll be all your fault,” it sneers.
  “You can’t hurt Cara.”
The thing laughs, laughs, laughs. “Oh, but you see,” it explains, “I won’t do anything. You’ll be the one. It’s all you, my darling. And dear me, you’re going to go to hell for it.”

I can’t bring myself to look her in the eyes anymore. It scares me.
She whispers, “Seriously, if you don’t get help for yourself, I will. You look dead. Just listen to me.”
I turn and run.

The wind snickers in my ears, blowing snapshots and crackling like dying charcoal flames. The cold licks my face, numbing my cheeks, red and scarlet bruised.
The thing crouches on my back, its hot breath scratching my skin. It no longer has the face of a demon.
I inspect my IPod carelessly, watching the light from the street lamp shimmer over the silver. In it looms my reflection, white-faced and crusty-eyed, chapped lips and flecks of hair slashing across my face.
My eyes.
My chapped lips, ruddy with the blush of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
My soul.
The heart pounding in my chest has never felt so hollow, so wet, so fleshy, so alive.
“She is only the first.”
Blood coils in my stomach.
“Let me show you.”
I can no longer fight.
Black swirls in the air, clouding my eyes with a steam that stings like acid. In the darkness, glowing knives flash, scarring the night with white strobe lights like at the party where Cara and I shared our first kiss. Like the last party we will ever share.
A scream cuts me. Chills my blood.
The shriek curdles before being stifled. And I know.
A bulky ache mounts in my chest, choking me.
Crimson and silver dance a fast-paced waltz as the years drag their stone-ball weights behind them, the twisting steps spiraling into flurried whirls, spilling and falling as the music drones into stunned silence.
Another girl—one whom I do not know, one whom I will never know, save for that one (oh that one) night. Whipping across the dance floor, staggering beneath the brown hair cloaking her.
Or that girl. Brown eyes like Cara’s. Pleading, grabbing my wrists, the veins bulging like blue snakes.
They blur together, their screams firing like guns, joining a scathing, moaning church choir that spins with an aroma sweet with her vanilla shampoo.
“I told you so.”
Trembling, I force open my eyes and stare at the blade shining, like a shooting star, embedded perfectly into the calluses of my hand.