I didn't sleep that night.
I lay in bed with my eyes on the ceiling, the streetlight outside throwing long shadows across the posters on my walls. My fingers kept twitching like they remembered the texture of the comic's paper. I tried to tell myself it was just a vivid hallucination, or maybe a prank. Maybe someone had followed me and set the whole thing up.
But that didn't explain what happened the next morning.
When I sat up in bed, something slid off my chest and landed in my lap.
It was the comic.
The same one. Black cover. No title.
Except now, the image had changed.
It showed me in bed. Eyes open. Staring at the ceiling.
I dropped it onto the floor like it was radioactive.
I didn't touch it for an hour. Just stared at it from across the room like it might grow legs and walk. I even tried to call Tasha—my best friend—but my phone didn't dial. The screen flickered and froze.
When I finally picked the comic up again, the cover image had changed again.
Now it showed me looking at the comic on the floor.
A page curled back like it was inviting me to open it.
My hands moved on their own.
I opened it to a page that showed Tasha.
She was waiting at the bus stop. Smiling, earbuds in. I recognized the outfit—she wore it yesterday.
The next panel: a truck, speeding around the corner.
The final panel: the bus stop. Empty. A single sneaker lying on the ground.
I slammed the book shut.
I ran outside, barefoot.
I didn't even lock the door.
Tasha's bus stop was four blocks away. I sprinted the whole way, breath coming in burning gasps.
She wasn't there.
But there were sirens.
And police tape.
And a crowd.
I pushed through. Someone yelled at me, but I didn't hear them.
Then I saw it.
The sneaker.
One. White. Splashed with something dark.