Jinx

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This is a terrifying story about something that happened to me at university.

One day, my friend and I were in a room on campus called the “Refresh Space,” a sort of common room where students could take a break. 

We were desperately trying to finish a paper that was due the next day.

But it took much longer than we had expected, and before we knew it, the sun had gone down and my friend and I were the only people left in the room.

As we chatted, the conversation naturally drifted towards romance, as these things often do.

Then my friend suddenly said:

“A senpai (senior student) told me there’s this jinx that guarantees your love life will work out.”

I remember wondering whether jinx wasn’t usually used to mean something negative.

Still, as silly as it sounded, I was intrigued by the idea that there was something that could make anyone’s romantic wishes come true, so I listened.

“You know the Performing Arts Building near Building Seven? The one where the gymnastics club practises? Apparently, all you have to do is make a wish to the anatomical model they keep in there.”

I’d heard all sorts of rumours about the university, but this one was new to me.

The idea of praying to an anatomical model as though it were some kind of god seemed ridiculous, but we were caught up in the mood of the conversation, so we decided to go and see it for ourselves.

The Performing Arts Building looked older and more run-down than any other building on campus.

It seemed as though the slightest earthquake could bring the whole thing crashing down.

I glanced at my friend. All the excitement she’d shown while we were talking about romance had completely vanished. 

She had fallen silent and was staring fixedly at a room on the second floor.

I was seriously beginning to feel uneasy, but my friend said, “Let’s go,” and strode into the building without hesitation. 

There was something deeply unsettling about the sight of her walking away from me.

She had already started climbing the stairs when I called after her and told her I was too scared and wanted to go back.

“Okay. See you,” was all she cared to say before she carried on up the stairs without me.

For a moment, I considered waiting outside, but even standing near the building made my skin crawl.

So I sent her a message saying I’d wait for her back at the Refresh Space.

I waited for about thirty minutes, but she still hadn’t returned.

She could be a little careless with time, so I thought perhaps she had left the Performing Arts Building and gone somewhere else. 

I sent her a message asking:

“Where are you?”

Her reply came a moment later.

“It’s no good. I can’t convince him… Hurry up and come help me.”

I couldn’t make sense of it.

She hadn’t even answered my question about where she was.

The message disturbed me, so I wrote back:

“Come back right now! I’m in the Refresh Space.”

Another reply came:

“I can’t come back yet. It’s going to take a while to convince him. I’m on the second floor of the Performing Arts Building, so hurry up and get over here.”

I was so frightened that I started trembling.

She seemed to understand what I was saying, yet what she was saying made absolutely no sense.

For a moment, I wondered whether she was playing some kind of prank to scare me. 

But there was none of her usual joking tone in the messages.

They sounded more like the dry, matter-of-fact messages she sent when dealing with club activities or work.

Was she saying that she was having trouble convincing the anatomical model and wanted me to help her?

I sent her one last message:

“Sorry, I have to go home now. See you tomorrow.”

I tried not to think about it any further.

She didn’t message me again that night and the next day, when I arrived at university, she wasn’t in the first class of the day—a class she almost never missed.

Worried, I sent her a message:

“Are you okay? Did something happen after I left yesterday?”

I got a reply straight away:

“I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little unwell, so I’m at home in bed. Thanks for worrying about me.”

She sounded perfectly normal, and I felt relieved — until I received the second message, which came soon after the first one. 

Reading it left me too stunned to write back.

“Actually, my boyfriend killed himself this morning. The police are there and everything seems to be a mess right now. 

You know what that means, don’t you?

I succeeded in convincing him. Pretty amazing, right?

Even I’m scared of myself.”

Since then, I have been trying my best to avoid her.