Supernatural and Paranormal Research Society

He turned on the lighter, and with a "click," a pale blue flame shot up.

The moment the flame touched the candle wick, instead of black smoke, it burst out with a "poof" sound, releasing a cluster of extremely dark red light.

The flame, contrary to its usual behavior, curved downwards in a strange way, burning close to the candle body like a coiled snake.

Chen Haoran's fingers stiffened slightly.

But he did not back down.

With the arrow already on the bowstring, the number of viewers in the live stream has exceeded 50,000.

We can't let the Berserker's reputation be ruined in our own hands!

He placed the red candle steadily at the corner where the two mirrors met.

The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the mirror's surface.

23:59

Chen Haoran took a deep breath and stared directly into the mirror.

The reflection in the mirror showed a face that was almost transparently white.

Like a wax figure drained of its color.

His breath condensed into a wisp of white mist in the early summer bathroom.

My temperature... has dropped again.

He bit his tongue, using the pain to forcefully dispel the chill in his bones, his voice low and clear:

"Bloody Mary. Show me your face."

First time.

The candlelight flickered suddenly.

It's not the wind.

It is the air being squeezed and distorted by some invisible force.

The temperature in the bathroom dropped suddenly, and a very thin layer of white frost appeared on the surface of the tiles.

The comments section was flooded with messages.

[Holy crap, the streamer is exhaling white breath!]

Is the air conditioning set too low?

The atmosphere is amazing, but why do I feel a chill down my spine...?

Chen Haoran did not watch the screen.

All his senses were drawn into that large mirror.

Deep within the mirror, something seemed to be wriggling.

Like an underwater current, slow, heavy, and with a suffocating sense of oppression.

He clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm.

The pain kept him conscious.

"Bloody Mary. Show me your face."

Second time.

As soon as the words were spoken, the flame of the red candle suddenly swelled by three inches, its color changing from dark red to eerie green, before quickly returning to normal.

"Tick-tock".

The sound of a very soft dripping water was particularly jarring in the deathly silence.

Chen Haoran's pupils contracted slightly. He slowly lowered his head.

A drop of water has been seeping from the drain of the stainless steel handwashing sink.

Dark red.

Sticky.

It carried a strong, fishy smell, a mixture of rust and decaying earth.

...It's blood.

His breath hitched.

Reason is screaming in desperation: Get out of here! Blow out the candles!

But my body felt like it was nailed to the spot.

That chilling coldness seeping from the very marrow of my bones had now transformed into a strange, terrifying excitement.

It was as if something was watching him greedily from the other side of the mirror, waiting for him to complete the final contract.

He raised his head.

The corners of my mouth in the mirror are turning up at an extremely slow and unnatural pace.

That wasn't his expression.

His muscles were stiff, and his lips were tightly closed.

But the reflection in the mirror revealed a satiated yet resentful curve.

Deep within his pupils, a hint of dark red quietly spread.

[!! The anchorwoman in the mirror smiled!]

[Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! Streamer, you didn't move, did you?!]

[Special effects! Definitely post-production special effects!]

Chen Haoran's heart pounded to its limit, almost shattering his ribs.

He clenched his back teeth tightly, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth.

can't stop.

Once you stop, there's no going back.

He forced his chapped lips open, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper were being rubbed together:

"Bloody Mary..."

The third syllable was stuck in the throat, like swallowing a piece of ice.

"Tick-tock...tick-tock...tick-tock..."

Water droplets began to seep out of the faucet without warning.

The water droplets were as viscous as dissolved clotted blood, and the sound of them hitting the bottom of the stainless steel pool was dull and heavy.

The stench, mixed with the musty smell of aged grave soil, instantly filled his nostrils, causing his stomach to convulse violently and acid to rush to his throat.

can't stop.

Once it stops, there's no going back.

He clenched his back teeth tightly, and the veins on his jawline bulged out.

He forced his chapped lips open, his voice hoarse as sandpaper rubbing against a rusty iron pipe:

"...show me your face."

"puff."

There was no transition.

The flame of the red candle seemed to be snapped off by an invisible hand, extinguishing instantly.

Darkness crashed down like a tidal wave.

In the cramped bathroom, even the hum of the exhaust fan had disappeared.

In the deathly silence, only his heart pounded wildly in his chest, making his eardrums buzz.

cold.

The biting cold crept up the cracks in the floor tiles, seeped into my trousers, and coiled around my ankles, like countless damp, cold snakes slowly tightening.

Chen Haoran stood frozen in place, his fingertips numb with cold.

He dared not move, he even held his breath.

Three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds.

Nothing happened.

The screen on the phone stand lit up automatically, and the pale white fill light pierced the darkness, illuminating the small space again.

He slowly opened his eyes.

The sink was spotless.

The metal filter screen at the drain outlet gleamed coldly; there was no blood, no water stains.

The tiles are dry and flat.

The red candle stood quietly in the corner of the mirror, with only a wisp of very faint blue smoke on its wick, as if the strange phenomenon just now was just a joke played by light and shadow.

"call……"

He let out a long breath, and his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

It was indeed a hallucination.

He quickly concluded in his mind that the combination of consecutive all-nighters and high levels of stress had caused an autonomic nervous system disorder, resulting in visual and auditory illusions. Scientific explanation made sense.

That makes perfect sense.

He tried to force a familiar, slightly roguish smile, but his facial muscles were as stiff as a frozen mask.

His gaze inadvertently drifted down.

His breathing suddenly stopped.

On the back of my left hand, a very thin red line has appeared without my noticing.

It's not a blood vessel.

It's not a scratch.

It's so neat, it looks like it was drawn with an extremely fine vermilion pen.

The red line was moving slowly along the skin texture on the back of his hand at a speed visible to the naked eye, inch by inch approaching the bluish-gray finger mark on his wrist.

Wherever it passed, the skin turned an ominous gray, and the temperature dropped frighteningly low.

Chen Haoran's pupils suddenly contracted.

He suddenly raised his hand and rubbed the red line hard.

It can't be rubbed off!

The skin was rubbed until it was red and cracked, with tiny beads of blood seeping out. But the red line seemed to be branded into the dermis, becoming clearer and deeper with each rub.

It's the wax from red candles.

This explanation instantly popped into his mind.

Yes! It splashed when I lit the candle! It solidified, so I can't rub it off!

That must be it!

He forced himself to believe this reason.

Once, twice, three times!

He forcibly suppressed even the trembling in his fingertips.

Reason built a wall in his mind, and even if the bricks were cracked, he would still try to seal it with cement.

He looked up at the mirror.

The person in the mirror had a deathly pale face and sunken eyes.

But what truly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end was his reflection in the mirror.

The light from the overhead incandescent bulb was bright, but the shadow at his feet was so faint it was almost transparent.

The edges are blurry and indistinct, like cheap ink that has been soaked in water.

Even more bizarrely, the shadow's outline... seemed to be a whole size smaller than his own figure.

It was as if something was being slowly extracted from this body.

Chen Haoran stared at the mirror, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with difficulty.

The lights are too bright.

It's a matter of perspective.

He quickly filled in the gaps in his mind, explaining that the fading shadow was simply due to overwork and insufficient blood and energy.

I'll feel better after a good night's sleep tomorrow.

He turned away and stopped looking in the mirror.

The movements were deliberately slowed down, with an almost obsessive composure.

He reached for his phone, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the force.

"fine."

He faced the camera, his voice so steady it sounded unfamiliar even to himself:

"It's just a problem with the equipment; the candle went out. Don't panic, guys, the streamer is fine."

He laughed wildly, but the crimson in his eyes was suppressed by a deep weariness.