The night was black as a burnt-out lightbulb, and just as chilly. You'd think it was still a balmy afternoon with the sun blazing, but once that fireball dipped below the horizon, it was like Mother Nature flipped the switch to "Arctic Nightmare."
I'd just had a blowout fight with my girlfriend, Emily Harper, over something dumb—like whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it doesn't, fight me). My mood was fouler than a week-old burrito, so I stormed back to my apartment, ready to drown my sorrows in a Netflix binge.
I shoved the door open, and bam—every light in the place was on, blazing like a Vegas casino. Thing is, I'm stingier than Scrooge McDuck with my electric bill, so I know I turned those suckers off before I left. First thought: Burglar! Second thought: Who'd rob me? I'm so broke my bank account sends me pity texts.
Then, my computer screen flickered to life, and these blood-red words splashed across it: "How Deep Can You Plunge Into Hell?" The graphics were so vivid, it looked like the text was bleeding. Ghostly figures—think Grim Reaper meets a bad Halloween costume—danced around the edges. My heart did a somersault, and sweat trickled down my back like I'd just run a marathon in a sauna.
Oh, and the window? Wide open. A gust of icy wind slithered in, making the curtains flap like they were auditioning for a horror flick. My arm hairs stood up like they were trying to salute the creepy vibes.
I don't buy into ghost stories, but this setup was screaming Poltergeist: Budget Edition. Who flipped on my lights? Who opened my window? And who the heck touched my PC? Just as I was about to nope out and call an exorcist, someone tapped my shoulder. I yelped like a startled chihuahua and spun around—it was Emily!
"What the—Emily, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" My pulse was doing the cha-cha, but seeing her familiar face calmed me down. Kinda. We'd just had that pizza fight, and she hadn't texted to say she was coming over. Weird.
Emily's face was pale as a marshmallow, her eyes glassy like she'd been binge-watching The Notebook for 48 hours straight. If it wasn't for her signature freckles, I'd have thought I was staring at a stranger.
"Babe, what's up? You okay?" I asked, my voice wobbling. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said your taste in pizza is a crime against humanity."
She didn't crack a smile. Instead, she stood there, stiff as a mannequin, and said in this hollow voice, "I missed you, Jake. Thought I'd swing by."
My guilt kicked in hard. I'd been a jerk, and here she was, making the first move to patch things up. I stepped closer, but something felt… off. Her voice sounded like it was coming from a bad Zoom call, all echoey and distant.
Then she held out a sleek USB drive. "Check this out, Jake. It's a game. Super fun. You'll love it."
I took it, frowning. "You came all the way here to give me a… game?" I flipped the drive over in my hand. It was unmarked, cold to the touch, like it'd been sitting in a freezer.
Emily's head tilted, her eyes unfocused. "I'll be waiting for you in there. Let's see how deep we can go… into Hell." She flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes, then muttered, "Night, Jake," and turned to leave.
I started to follow, but froze. Her body… it looked wrong. Like, translucent-wrong. Her feet barely touched the floor, gliding like she was on rollerblades. In the dim light, she was practically see-through, like a human hologram. My brain screamed GHOST! but I shook it off. Nah, Jake, you're just tired. Too many late-night tacos.
I tossed the USB on my desk, chalking it up to Emily pulling a prank to mess with me post-fight. After a quick shower, I crashed, hoping tomorrow would be less X-Files.
Morning came, and I dragged myself to the office, bleary-eyed and still rattled. I work at a tech startup, where we churn out apps nobody uses. As I passed Emily's cubicle, my coffee mug slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.
There she was, slumped in her chair, head tilted back, lips parted, eyes wide open like she'd seen the world's worst jump-scare. A jagged red gash circled her throat, stark against her pale skin. My knees buckled.
"Emily!" I lunged forward, reaching to check her pulse, but the scene screamed too late. Her body was stiff, her skin cold as ice.
My brain short-circuited, replaying her words from last night: "I'll be waiting for you… in Hell." My throat felt like it was in a vice grip.
Just then, my coworker, Mike "Call Me Bro" Thompson, strolled in, whistling a tune. He took one look at me—pale, shaking, staring at Emily's body—and his jaw dropped. "Whoa, Jake, you look like you saw a ghost! What's—OH MY GOD!" He spotted Emily and let out a scream that could've shattered windows. "What the heck happened? Is that… Emily?!"
"Call 911, Mike! Now!" I barked, my voice raw.
The cops swarmed the place in minutes. Me and Mike, being the first on the scene, got hauled in for questioning. The office was cordoned off, yellow tape everywhere, like we'd stepped into a CSI episode.
My buddy, Detective Ryan "Just The Facts" Carter, was taking my statement. He scribbled in his notebook, eyeing me like I'd just confessed to stealing cookies. "So, Jake, you and Emily have a fight yesterday? Notice anything weird about her lately? Maybe cozying up to someone else?"
I clenched my fists, grief and shock slugging it out in my chest. "Yeah, we argued—stupid stuff. But we made up last night! She came over, gave me some USB drive, and—" I stopped, realizing how insane this sounded.
Ryan leaned in, lowering his voice. "Look, man, you're my friend, but you're also her boyfriend and the first to find her. You're on the suspect list. I'm sorry, but… you sure you're okay?"
"I can't believe she's gone," I choked out, tears burning my eyes. "That gash… who'd do that to her?"
Before Ryan could answer, another cop jogged over, holding a report. "Detective Carter, coroner's preliminary findings are in. Time of death: yesterday, around 5 p.m. Cause: asphyxiation, likely from strangulation."
My world tilted. "Five p.m.?" I stammered. "That's impossible. I saw her last night, like 10 p.m., at my place!"
The cop frowned, and Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Jake, you're sure? This isn't the time for games."
"I'm not lying!" I snapped, my voice cracking. "She was there, Ryan. She gave me that creepy USB. I swear!"
Ryan exchanged a look with the other cop, then turned back to me. "Alright, let's take this one step at a time. Where's that USB now?"
I patted my pocket, realizing I'd grabbed it on my way out. My hand shook as I pulled it out. "Here. She said it was a game. Something about… going to Hell."
Ryan's brow furrowed. "A game? Jake, you didn't plug this into anything, did you?"
"Not yet," I said, my stomach twisting. "But after last night's screen stunt and now this… I'm starting to think it's not just a game."
As I handed over the USB, my mind flashed back to that blood-red text: How Deep Can You Plunge Into Hell? Emily's death, her ghostly visit, the USB—it was all connected. I didn't know how, but I was gonna find out. Even if it meant diving headfirst into whatever nightmare this "game" had in store.