You’ve had enough of a horror movie for tonight and feel no urge to investigate the strange sound upstairs. You go into the guest room and close and lock the door behind you. Just as you sit down to get ready for bed, your phone rings.
Wondering who might be calling, you pick it up. The number is blocked. Curious, you press answer and hold the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
No one responds. Instead, hollow breathing slithers through the phone. In the background, you can just make out the sound of running water.
Your heart in your throat, you go into the bathroom attached to the guest room. The sink faucet is running, but you know you turned it off. There is nothing else there, but the trickling of water on the phone stops when you turn off your own faucet.
You are still holding the phone to your ear when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and gasp. Before your eyes, you are aging—there is no other way to describe it. Your skin darkens and wrinkles, your eyes are losing their shine, your hair grows long, limp, and white. Your teeth rot and fall out of your mouth, and you realize that this isn’t just happening in the mirror. Your body is aging, and then, disappearing. The phone drops from your hand.
Your flesh sags from your bones before it rots off completely. You watch as your eyes disappear, but even when your skull is left with empty eye sockets, you can still see yourself in the mirror. You can see what you have become in the span of a few seconds.
A skeleton.
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