Miami was alive with its usual chaos—a city of contradictions, where bright sunlight bathed the beaches while shadowy streets whispered secrets no one dared to repeat. The locals were a curious mix: retirees soaking up their golden years, partygoers who never seemed to sleep, and those who walked the delicate line between ambition and danger. It was a city of vivid colors, heat, and an undercurrent of mystery.
John Mason loved Miami. He had moved there a year ago, leaving behind the monotony of his small-town life for the allure of its rhythm and vibrancy. But even the city's brightness couldn't prepare him for the dark and strange events about to unfold.
It began one ordinary morning. The sun was climbing over Biscayne Bay, painting the skies in pastel pinks and oranges. John was finishing his second cup of coffee when his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
A text message from an unknown number:
"Wanna see magic?"
John frowned. Pranks from random numbers were common, especially for someone like him who often gave his contact out at networking events. He shrugged it off, deleting the message without replying.
Minutes later, his phone rang.
When he answered, a soft, melodic female voice purred into his ear, "Wanna see magic, honey?"
John froze. "Who is this?" he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
The woman giggled—a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Come outside. I'm waiting," she said, her voice low and teasing.
Against his better judgment, John grabbed his keys and opened the door. Standing on the sidewalk was a little girl no older than nine, her face pale and her expression unnervingly blank. She held out a folded piece of paper without saying a word.
"Who are you?" John asked. The girl didn't answer. She turned and walked away, disappearing down the street.
John unfolded the paper. Written in neat handwriting was an address and a message: "Meet me at The Velvet Lounge tonight at 10."
That night, John found himself outside The Velvet Lounge, a bar tucked away in one of Miami's less-traveled streets. The neon sign buzzed faintly, casting a red glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere was intoxicating: low lights, jazz music humming in the background, and patrons lost in whispered conversations.
John scanned the room, unsure of what—or who—he was looking for. Then he saw her.
She was sitting at the bar, the most striking woman he had ever seen. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her dark eyes sparkled with a dangerous allure. She wore a simple top and jeans, yet she outshone everyone in the room.
John approached her, his heart pounding. "Hi, I'm John," he said, his voice almost drowned out by the music.
The woman turned to him, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I'm Jane," she replied. "Wanna see some magic?"
John chuckled nervously. "Was it you who texted me?"
Jane leaned in closer, her perfume intoxicating. "That depends," she said, her smile widening. "Wanna see?"
John hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
Jane's smile turned mischievous. "In fifteen minutes, you'll be in love with me," she said, her voice dripping with confidence.
John laughed, thinking it was a playful joke. But as they talked, he found himself unable to look away from her. She was magnetic—her laugh, her smile, the way she moved. By the time those fifteen minutes were up, John's heart was racing, and he was hooked.
As if sensing it, Jane leaned closer and whispered, "Told you. Now, wanna see more magic?"
John, entranced, nodded. "What do you mean?"
Jane stood, her movements fluid and graceful. "Dance with me," she said, holding out her hand.
John couldn't refuse. They danced, her body moving like the liquid in time with the music. As the minutes passed, he found himself pulling her closer, unable to resist. He leaned in, their faces inches apart, but Jane stopped him with a finger pressed against his lips.
"Not yet, honey," she said with a teasing smile. "Come to my place tomorrow. After lunch. Two o'clock."
She handed him another piece of paper. This time, it had an address scrawled across it.
The next afternoon, John drove to the address Jane had given him. It was in an old, rundown neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The house stood out like a ghost—a sprawling mansion with peeling paint, a wild yard, and a still, murky pond reflecting the overcast sky.
John parked his car and approached the house, the creaking gate protesting as he pushed it open. Despite the exterior's decay, the inside of the house was shockingly luxurious. Ornate furniture, crystal chandeliers, and gilded mirrors adorned every corner.
"Jane?" he called out, his voice echoing.
"Upstairs, honey," came her reply, faint and distant. "Come to my bedroom."
John climbed the grand staircase, his shoes clicking against the polished wood. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open, stepping inside.
The room was empty.
"Jane?" he called again, his voice uneasy.
As he turned to leave, his reflection in the large mirror caught his attention. He looked… different. His clothes had changed—he was wearing an elegant suit, and his face looked sharper, more handsome, like a version of himself he had never seen.
He approached the mirror, staring at the unfamiliar reflection. Suddenly, the reflection shifted. Behind him, in the mirror, Jane appeared.
John spun around, but no one was there.
Before he could react, hands shot out from the mirror, cold and unyielding, grabbing his collar. He screamed as the hands yanked him into the glass, his body vanishing into its depths.
Inside the mirror, he found himself face-to-face with Jane. Her smile was no longer alluring—it was menacing. She held a gleaming knife in her hand.
"Wanna see magic?" she whispered, her voice like ice.
John's screams echoed as Jane brought the knife down, carving out his eyes with cold precision.
The next day, the house stood silent. No sign of John, no trace of the luxurious furniture he had seen. In the cracked mirror above the fireplace, a faint message appeared, scrawled in blood:
"Wanna see magic?"
The End