Creeptober Horror Spree: Volume One

Dead Jim

Bloody Mary. The Lady Spades. The Devil Game. There's a mirror game for every generation, but outside of my hometown, I've never heard of Dead Jim. It makes me think he's real, after all, if I'm honest, though I have much more to go on than an urban legend. I have experience. My out of town friends thought at first that Dead Jim was just a repackaged Bloody Mary, but saying it three times isn't what summons Dead Jim.

To see Dead Jim, one must adhere to a ritual that is a bit more complicated. It's still easy, mind you. In the east part of town is Dead Jim's house. Nobody remembers who he was, but some know who he is. Mostly the town's older residents; Taylor suspected they knew him, but they're tight-lipped about him now. The exception is when they overhear kids talking about playing Dead Jim. "Don't you dare," they'll say. "You shouldn't be messing with things that you don't understand!"

But, largely, kids are stupid. They mean well, but we lack the forethought for a lot of what we do. So we'd play Dead Jim anyway, running through his house in the dead of night. Nothing ever happened, at least for a while. We were probably at greater risk of falling through the rotten floorboards than getting dragged to Hell by an angry dead old man. Getting Dead Jim's attention didn't require a Halloween night, but as far as Taylor and his friends were concerned, it was the only night worth trying on. Something about the veil being thinner. I honestly don't know how it works or if it works.

So, Taylor convinced three of his friends to abandon their Trick-or-Treating to have a go at poor old Dead Jim. I suppose they chose Trick that night. While Bloody Mary and the like can be summoned with a standing mirror, traditionally a bathroom mirror, Dead Jim requires a handheld mirror. The idea is to walk from room to room, using the mirror to look over your shoulder. It's paramount that you never break eye contact with the mirror; otherwise, it won't work. Taylor, the bravest of his friends, volunteered to go first. His friends trailed behind him as he performed the ritual, huddled together in excitement and terror.

He began in the kitchen, holding the mirror out in front of him. "Dead Jim, you ate your last meal here,"

Taylor went to the living room. "Dead Jim, you took your last nap here,"

"Dead Jim," He spoke to the darkness, walking down the hall towards the staircase. "The pain started on your way upstairs."

Into the upstairs hallway they went, following the brave young man on his journey. "Dead Jim, you stopped to catch your breath. Oh, how sad it was. You were almost to the phone."

Taylor stepped over the threshold of Dead Jim's bedroom, the old floorboards creaking underfoot. "Dead Jim, you fell face down here, crying for help that never came. Would you like to be my friend, Dead Jim? Would you like to know my name?"

Yes, I had answered. I appeared behind him in the mirror. The boy's eyes flew open wide as I gripped his shoulders in my hands. It was rare to be corporeal in my state of being, and it was refreshing. His friends screamed and ran, abandoning the poor boy, tumbling out the front door into the night. Tell me your name, and I'll let you go.

"T-Taylor," Tears streamed down his face as he mumbled the name.

Dead Jim let him go, as promised. But Taylor left his body behind, and Jim was never one to be wasteful.