Okay, y’all, let me set the scene real quick: I’m scrolling through Tinder—again. Not because I’m thirsty, okay? But because after a few weeks of haunted Starbucks cups and weird glitchy vibes in my apartment, your girl needs a reset. Like, self-care, but make it cute. Just a chill night out, a little bar action, maybe some spicy TikTok content. No ghosts. No creepy shadow figures. Just wine, vibes, and good lighting.
And then, boom, I swipe right on this guy—uh, Chad? No, wait… maybe it was Blaine. Whatever. He’s got major “I lift, bro” energy—gym selfies, a Golden Retriever pic, and the classic “I hike on weekends” bio. Basically, the human equivalent of an avocado toast: basic, but you know it’s gonna hit the spot.
Fast forward to the night of the date, and here I am, strutting into this boujee AF bar that’s basically one big Pinterest board. Neon lights, fake plants, cocktails with names like “Moonlit Vibes” that cost half my rent—yes, please.
But the second I walk in, I’m like, “Okay, sus.” The air’s cold. Not ‘OMG Bree’s about to be a snack’ cold, but like… haunted library cold. You know that vibe when your Wi-Fi cuts out in the middle of a Netflix binge and your soul just leaves your body? Yeah, that.
First thought? “Chill, Bree, it’s just the AC. Don’t be dramatic.”
Second thought? “Oh no, this bar’s got some serious ‘I died in 1874’ energy.”
So, I text Chad—wait, was it Blaine?—that I’m here. And then, like a true content queen, I do what any self-respecting girl would do: I hit LIVE on TikTok while waiting.
“Heyyy, besties! Your girl is out here, making questionable life choices, because apparently, I love bad decisions. I’m waiting for… Chad? Blaine? Honestly, I have no idea, but we’re vibing at this super cute bar, and I’m manifesting no ghost drama tonight. Like, can I please just have one normal date?”
The chat's blowing up with laughing emojis and, of course, the classic “Bree, don’t get ghosted, lol.” If only they knew.
Two minutes in, Chad/Blaine shows up, and okay, not gonna lie, he’s kinda cute IRL—solid 7/10, maybe 7.5 if he didn’t talk so much about CrossFit. But I’m here for the vibes and the content, not for love, okay?
The air’s still weird though, like the entire bar is buffering in real life. Everything feels off, but Chad/Blaine is oblivious. Like, bruh, how are you not picking up on this creepy Netflix-after-dark vibe?
“Hey,” he says, sliding into the chair like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. “You must be Bree.”
“Yeah, and you must be… Chad? Or Blaine?” I ask, because honestly, I can’t keep it straight. He laughs, a little awkward.
“It’s Greg,” he says with a smile. But like, who cares? He’s cute enough, and I’m here for the drinks, not his name.
We start chatting—or, he starts talking about CrossFit and how he’s been intermittent fasting, and I’m halfway through pretending to care when—boom—the lights flicker. Like, full-on horror movie flicker. I’m talking peak Stranger Things vibes. I try to laugh it off, but then it happens again, and the music skips like a YouTube video with bad Wi-Fi. The whole place feels… wrong.
The air sharpens around me, like I’m breathing in icy glass shards. I glance at the table, and the condensation on my cocktail glass? It’s frozen. Ice crystals spider-webbing up the sides, like the temperature just nosedived. Okay, no way that’s just bad AC.
I look at my phone and check the chat, which is exploding like someone just leaked tea.
“Bree, why the lights acting sus?👀”
“Uhhh, does anyone else hear that weird static??”
“Girl, the date’s CURSED. Run. 😂”
Great. Just what I needed—ghost vibes on my first date in weeks. I glance at Chad/Blaine, who is still rambling about his PR at the gym like nothing’s wrong.
“Are you… feeling anything weird in here?” I ask, trying to be casual even though my internal panic meter is dialed up to 11.
“Huh?” He finally looks up from his drink. “Weird? Nah, why?”
Bruh. Of course you’re not.
Before I can even explain, his phone starts vibrating on the table, but when I glance over at the screen, it’s like—what the actual hell. The screen is full-on glitching. Like, haunted VHS tape vibes. The text is scrambled, and his dog wallpaper looks like it’s melting. I blink. He blinks.
“Whoa,” Blaine/Chad says, poking at his phone like that’s gonna fix it. “That’s weird. Must be a bug.”
Yeah, a ghost bug, I mutter to myself, feeling my stomach twist into a TikTok-worthy anxiety dance.
Then, the temperature drops again. Like, I’m not talking ‘ooo, cozy fall vibes,’ I’m talking full-on Arctic tundra in a nightclub. And suddenly, I realize it’s not just the lights that are flickering.
Chad/Blaine’s face? Glitching. His smile twitches like it’s buffering, and for a split second—he’s gone. Like, legit gone, y’all. I’m staring at an empty chair, and the bar feels like someone just hit pause on the world.
I blink—hard—and when I open my eyes? He’s back, mid-sentence, like nothing happened. But I know what I saw. Dude literally just ghosted me. Literally.
I check my chat again, hoping someone else caught it. The comments are going feral:
“Bree… your date just straight up glitched, sis.”
“Was that a filter orrr??”
“Bruh, your date’s ghosting you in real time! RIP 💀”
Panic rises in my chest, but I try to keep it cute for the TikTok clout. “Okay, ha ha, very funny, universe. You know what, Chad—Blaine—whatever your name is—what is it again?”
“It’s Greg,” he says, but I’m too busy not dying to care. “You keep saying Chad.”
“Right, right… Greg,” I say, totally lying. It’s Chad in my head, and we’re sticking with that.
Then it happens again. He flickers. Straight-up disappears for a solid two seconds like my Wi-Fi during a Zoom call.
This time, I don’t blink. I just stare at the empty spot where Blaine/Chad used to be, trying to process the fact that I’m on a date with a dude who is LITERALLY ghosting me.
POP—he’s back. Sipping his drink like he didn’t just vanish into the ghost dimension.
I’m full-on freaking now. “Bro, did you feel that?!”
He frowns. “Feel what? I mean, this gin and tonic is pretty good.”
ARE YOU SERIOUS, BLAINE???
I point my phone at myself, ready to livestream my actual terror because the world needs to see this. “Guys, my date is literally ghosting me,” I whisper into the camera, my voice shaky.
“Bree, run! That’s some demon Tinder sh*t!”
“Is this a glitch in the matrix? 😂”
“LOL, you literally swiped right on a ghost.💀👻”
And then it gets worse.
His eyes? Gone. Like, straight-up black pits where his eyes used to be. NOPE. My heart’s pounding, and the temp in the bar is dropping faster than my phone battery at Coachella.
The whole place freezes. Music? Stopped. The bartender? Frozen mid-pour. Everything is stuck except Blaine/Chad, who’s now staring at me with those black, empty eyes.
“I can’t even,” I whisper, reaching for my purse, ready to dip. But before I can even stand up, something cold grabs my wrist.
Why is it always the wrist, y’all??
I whirl around, expecting to see some creepy entity, but nope—it’s just Chad/Blaine, holding my wrist with this weird robotic grip. His voice? Flat. Emotionless. Distorted.
“Time to go, Bree.”
My brain’s screaming RUN, but my legs are doing the exact opposite of that. His hand feels like ice and fire at the same time, burning through my skin. His face is glitching again, flickering like it’s caught between worlds.
I yank my wrist free and bolt for the door. I can hear his voice behind me, echoing like a haunted TikTok sound, but I don’t dare look back.
“Bree, don’t go.”
LOL, too late, bestie—I’m already outta here!
Finally, a block away, I stop to catch my breath. The air’s warmer here, like the creepy, haunted glitch stayed in that bar. I check my phone, and the chat is going wild:
“BREE, WHAT WAS THAT??”
“Girl, you just got haunted!”
“Did you seriously get GHOSTED on your date? 😂💀”
Panting, I sit on a bench. “Um, excuse me?! Guys, what the hell just happened?”
And then my phone buzzes. A text from Chad/Blaine/Whoever.
“Had fun tonight. We should do this again.”
The text flickers, just like he did. My screen glitches with lines of static, and then—oh no—my reflection in the screen starts flickering too, eyes going dark like his, until all I see are two black pits staring back at me.
And then, for just a second, the reflection winks out, leaving nothing but a blank void staring back at me. When it reappears, those black, empty eyes aren’t just mine anymore. They’re something else. Watching.
Oh, HELL no.
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