The party was already chaotic when I got there—a bunch of us crammed into Tyler’s basement, music blasting, neon lights flashing, half-empty soda bottles and vape pens scattered everywhere. Someone had brought a bottle of peach schnapps, but no one was drinking. It wasn’t about the booze tonight—it was about TikTok.
Jacob was in the middle of the room, his phone propped up against a speaker. “Alright, guys, you ready?” he grinned, holding up a bottle of Benadryl like it was some kind of twisted trophy. The Syrup Challenge. Take way too much, wait for the hallucinations, and ride the high. Some people saw weird shapes. Others claimed they talked to dead relatives. But Jacob? Jacob wanted to take it further.
“Bro, this is dumb,” I muttered. “Are you sure about this?”
He rolled his eyes. “Dude, I saw a guy on TikTok do fifteen pills and he was fine.”
He wasn’t fine. I had seen the video—the guy looked like he was fighting invisible demons. But Jacob had already unscrewed the cap. Someone whooped as he poured the thick pink syrup into his mouth and chugged the whole bottle like it was nothing. Some kids cheered. Some recorded. The rest of us just watched.
At first, it was funny. Jacob giggled, his eyes darting around like he was seeing things we couldn’t. He swayed slightly, blinking slow, his lips twitching into an off-kilter smile.
“Yo,” he mumbled, “why is everything melting?”
People laughed. Someone shoved a phone in his face. “Dude, what do you see?”
Jacob frowned, his pupils blown wide. “Shadow people,” he whispered.
The room went quieter. His fingers twitched. Then, out of nowhere, he let out this sharp, strangled laugh that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
“Oh my God,” he gasped, grabbing my wrist. “I can see the end.”
I swallowed. “The end of what?”
He stared right through me. “Everything.”
Minutes passed. Jacob got worse. The laughing stopped. His breathing turned shallow and fast. His skin looked gray under the pulsing lights. Then he started muttering to himself, low and shaky, like he was having a conversation no one else could hear.
“Dude, sit down,” Tyler said, nervous now.
Jacob ignored him. He was staring at something—something none of us could see.
“They want me,” he murmured.
“Who?” someone joked, still filming.
Jacob’s face twisted.
Then, suddenly, he screamed. A gut-wrenching, animalistic scream that shattered the energy in the room. Chaos erupted. Someone dropped their phone. A girl shrieked. Jacob clawed at his arms like something was crawling under his skin, then bolted up the stairs, shoving people aside.
“Jacob!” I ran after him.
We found him in the backyard, staggering toward the edge of the house. The drop below was a full two stories.
“Jacob, stop!”
He turned to look at me—eyes glassy, a sick grin twisting his lips. “I wonder if I can fly,” he said.
Then he stepped onto the ledge.
The next few seconds blurred. I grabbed his arm. Tyler tackled him from the side. We yanked him down just as his foot slipped. He hit the ground convulsing. Foaming at the mouth. Vomiting.
Blood. Thick, dark red. Pouring from his mouth like something inside had ruptured. His eyes bulged—bloodshot and wide—as if he saw something horrible in the shadows around us. His hands clawed at his throat, choking on his own fluids. The veins on his forehead throbbed, looking like they were about to burst.
Someone gagged. A girl screamed for someone to call 911. But the others… the others kept filming. Recording the way Jacob spasmed. The way his body twitched violently on the grass. The way his lips turned black—like he was rotting from the inside out. Some were laughing nervously. Others whispered. But no one—not a single one—dropped their phones to help.
I did.
I dropped mine and grabbed his shoulders. “Jacob, stay with me, man.”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just more blood. His body jerked harder. His head smacked against the ground. His pupils shrank to pinpoints. His fingers twitched like broken marionette strings. One long, deep exhale… and stillness.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Jacob was gone.
They tried. The paramedics did everything they could. But there was nothing left to save. His body was limp. His lips blue. His phone—still streaming live—was covered in vomit and dirt. A grotesque timestamp of his final moments.
Then, like vultures, the videos went viral.
Days passed. The world moved on. TikTok deleted the clips—but not before they racked up millions of views. People commented with crying emojis. Hashtags trended. Parents held press conferences. TikTok issued a statement. All while another stupid challenge replaced this one.
Jacob became a statistic.
And his so-called friends—the ones who cheered him on—they moved on too. New parties. New dares. New content.
Me?
I visit his parents. Their house is quiet now. Suffocatingly so. His mom sits by the window most days, staring outside like she’s waiting for Jacob to come home. His dad barely speaks. I bring flowers sometimes, but they just sit there, wilting… like them.
No one talks about Jacob anymore.
Not really.
His friends barely mention him. And when they do, it’s just a name. A headline. A tragedy. Another warning no one will listen to.
And I wonder… which way is this world heading?
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