“Your turn, Violet,” Marcus said, his voice low and teasing as the bottle spun lazily on the worn wooden floor. The dim glow of the flickering lantern cast long shadows across the room, and the air smelled faintly of damp earth and old books. Violet hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the circle where the rest of the group sat, their laughter echoing softly.

They were in the basement of Marcus’s family’s old Victorian house, a place Violet had only been to a handful of times. Marcus, with his tousled dark hair and a smirk that always seemed to linger, was the kind of guy who made even a game like Spin the Bottle feel dangerous. Violet, on the other hand, was all soft edges—her honey-blonde hair falling in loose waves, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room, and her wide, curious eyes darting nervously to the bottle as it slowed.

The bottle came to a stop, pointing directly at Marcus. He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Looks like it’s me,” he said, leaning forward slightly. But before Violet could respond, the lantern flickered violently, and the bottle began to spin again on its own, faster and faster, until it stopped abruptly—pointing at the empty space between them. A cold draft swept through the room, and Marcus’s smile faltered. “Uh… that’s not supposed to happen, right?”