The 2021 Scary Story Contest was hosted by the Coquitlam and Port Moody public libraries.
15 – 18 age category winner
Third place: "Re-sent Demon"
Jessica O’Brien-Visbisky, 17, Coquitlam
I wake up on the chilled bathroom floor, dried crimson blood crusting around my snow-white knuckles. The only source of light within the pitch-black darkness is the glowing blue ray from my cellphone. My body aches. My arm lifts from the numbingly frigid floor, turning my phone towards my face.
It blinks; two percent.
My head pounds like a heartbeat. I peel myself off the floor, sweat-soaked, skin ripping from the white tiles. Standing up, my knees quivering, my shoulders heavy and my eyes stinging with every blink, I flip the switch on the wall, white light flickering. I look at myself in the smashed mirror. Hair flat, eyes puffy, skin pale. An uncanny resemblance to a dead man.
A high-pitched sound bounces off the tattered bathroom walls, a notification popping up at the top of my cellphone. I press my finger against the icy glass screen and widen the image sent.
A photo of me, crushed onto the blood-stained floor. A gaping wound spews dark red blood at the top of my head, splattering against the walls. My mouth hanging open, I choke on my own blood, bubbles forming, and eyes bugged open with fear. Staring into my camera. Staring into my soul. Moments away from death.
A disquieting feeling prickles through my fingertips and down my spine. I scroll to view the time sent; almost thirty minutes before I woke up. I quickly navigate back to my camera and look into my reflection. A pathetic sight, but no gaping wound, no bug eyes, no blood anywhere except for my knuckles.
The strange photo taken in the bathroom I currently stood in looked like it could have only been shot by someone sitting in the sink, peering down upon me creepily. My face appeared melted with fear, but not surprise. I relived this gruesome experience repeatedly.
I view the contact of the sender. My heart drops into my stomach. Looking at the number, I sent this to myself. I scroll up to view earlier messages and see the same photo sent multiple times with thirty-minute intervals. The same photo, the same fear, the same blood stains.
Once again, I open my camera. Gripping tightly onto my phone, I look back to the mirror. A blood-curdling scream escapes from my mouth. A disgusting, loathsome demon stares back at me. A version of myself with blood spewing from its head, escaping its mouth and staining its teeth, grinning. I slam my fist against the mirror and tumble backwards. I hear the shutter of the camera, the reflective glass shattering. The lights go out. Everything goes pitch black.
I wake up on the chilled bathroom floor, dried crimson blood crusting around my snow-white knuckles. The only source of light within the pitch-black darkness is the glowing blue ray from my cellphone. My body aches. My arm lifts from the numbingly frigid floor, turning my phone towards my face.
It blinks; one percent.
