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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/aaron__47 on 2024-11-01 01:51:05+00:00.
I met Jeremy at the tail end of sophomore year, though he wouldn’t have known it. Psychology major, sharp jaw, always carrying a battered, highlighted textbook under his arm. To him, I was just background—another half-smiling face in the mass of campus strangers.
But I watched him. I was drawn to his confidence, the way he leaned forward when he talked, like he wanted to dissect people’s words, peer inside their minds. And that casual smile—it was natural on him. He probably had no idea how that smile felt to people like me, people who lived on the edges, unseen. A glint of warmth on a cold day. For me, that smile was a flickering flame.
The little occult shop in town was the type that pulled at you with its own quiet gravity. Its shelves sagged with oddities: dried herbs, jars of something that looked like crystallized spiders, tarot cards with edges worn soft by years of handling. I’d been browsing in there since freshman year. Mostly I looked, rarely bought. The owner, an older woman with eyes that lingered too long, didn’t care.
That day, though, I found the book—a cracked, dust-coated, leather-bound thing stuffed under a stack of crumbling grimoires. “Charms and Potions to Influence the Heart.” I nearly laughed at it, but I flipped through the pages, my fingers staining just from touching it. There, between brittle sheets and smeared ink, was the love potion spell. Irresistible allure, it claimed, with warnings written faintly in cursive in the margins. I shrugged them off. Desperation drives people to warnings, but what did they mean to someone who didn’t plan on taking them seriously? Besides, I wasn’t desperate. I was curious.
The instructions were straightforward, even for a first-timer. A few herbs, some strange Latin incantation. Nothing I hadn’t tried in simpler forms. But one detail felt... unnecessary. The book advised a personal “cleansing” ritual before crafting the potion, to “prevent the caster’s own desires from tainting the charm.” I scoffed at the idea. My desires weren’t dangerous—maybe a little silly, maybe stupid, but not dangerous. So I skipped it, brushing it aside as some medieval quirk.
Back in my apartment, the kitchen reeked of thyme, rosemary, and something called witch’s lavender, a cloying scent somewhere between licorice and death. I ground the herbs in my mortar and pestle, feeling each hard crush of the stone, then mixed the powder with honey and a drop of my own blood—a required “personal touch.” The whole concoction gleamed dark red in the dim light, the color of a bruise. Thick, syrupy, almost alive in the jar. I held it to my nose, inhaling that odd mix of bitterness and sweetness, and felt a small thrill tighten in my chest.
The next day, there was a campus event in the courtyard—some tedious student fair with free coffee on a long table lined with dusty thermoses. Jeremy was there, chatting with friends near the theater club’s booth, coffee cup cradled in his hands. Perfect.
I slipped the vial out of my coat pocket, popping the cork as inconspicuously as I could. The potion trickled out in a thin stream, nearly black, sinking into the coffee like oil in water. I stirred it quickly with the plastic stir stick, looking around, heartbeat quickening, but no one was paying attention. Why would they?
Then I watched him drink. Watched him talk with that effortless laugh and casual shrug, watched the coffee cup go up to his mouth, the potion slipping past his lips. I had to pull my eyes away so no one noticed. And then, I waited.
It wasn’t immediate—no magic spark, no grand revelation. But over the next few days, things shifted. I’d pass him in the library, and he’d do a double-take, that small flash of recognition in his eyes, like he was recalling a dream. And then he’d smile, half-confused, but a little longer than usual. Once, as he left the library, he turned back, lingering by the door as if he had something to say, his eyes finding mine through the glass.
At first, the thrill of it made me dizzy. It was like touching fire without getting burned, like I’d somehow altered the air around me just by saying I would. By wanting it.
The first time Jeremy showed up outside my class, I thought it was coincidence. Just him leaving the lecture hall next door. He walked up to me, an easy smile spreading across his face like I was someone he’d known all along.
“Hey, Emma, right?”
The sound of my name from his mouth was like an electric jolt. He said it like he’d practiced it, testing out the shape of each syllable. I managed a nod, feeling my cheeks heat up.
“I thought I recognized you from the library.” He laughed, an awkward chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You have this focused look, you know? Makes me wonder what you’re always reading about.”
His gaze lingered a second too long. “Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “I read a lot. For class and...other things.”
There was a spark in his eyes as he asked what I was studying, what I liked to do, if I’d want to grab coffee sometime. He seemed genuinely interested—too interested, maybe. And I found myself overwhelmed, almost uncertain. But I agreed. Because, after all, wasn’t this what I’d wanted?
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Over the next few days, I started seeing him everywhere. He’d pop up when I was leaving the library, or walking to class, or at the café where I went to unwind. He acted surprised each time, always chuckling, like, “What are the odds?”
It was thrilling, that first week—like I’d somehow summoned him from a distance. But soon, his presence became a constant shadow I couldn’t shake.
One evening, I was sitting on my dorm’s front steps, headphones in, hoping for a quiet moment to myself. Then a shadow loomed over me. I glanced up, startled, and there he was, standing inches away, grinning down at me.
“You’re hard to find, you know that?” he said, his eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “I tried to catch you in the library today.”
I pulled out an earbud, forcing a laugh. “Didn’t realize I had a schedule to keep.”
He didn’t laugh. He just kept watching, his gaze heavy. “Just saying it’d be nice if you made a little more time for me.”
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A few days later, Lily started noticing too. She was my roommate, my one friend on campus who knew my quirks and obsessions, though she only teased me for them. But the morning she saw Jeremy waiting outside our building, she raised an eyebrow.
“That guy again?” she asked, peeking through the blinds as he lingered by the entrance. “Is he always around, or is it just me?”
I tried to play it off. “We’re just...getting to know each other.”
She gave me a hard look. “Emma, getting to know each other is one thing. Having a guy stalk you is another.”
“He’s not stalking me, Lily. He’s just...he’s into me, I guess.”
She shook her head, closing the blinds with a sigh. “Just be careful, okay? He seems a little...intense.”
Intense. I brushed it off, but the word clung to me. That night, I felt my skin prickle as I realized how often his face flashed in my thoughts, how his gaze felt more like a lock than a look.
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The next evening, as I walked back from class, I felt a presence behind me. Quick, light footsteps, then a familiar voice.
“Emma.”
I turned. Jeremy was standing just a step away, close enough that I felt his breath, sharp and shallow.
“Hi,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Didn’t realize you’d be here.”
He reached out, his hand brushing my arm, holding just long enough that I felt pinned in place. “You didn’t text me back.”
I stammered, trying to explain about assignments, a long day—but he didn’t let go. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into my skin.
“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, his face inches from mine. “I thought we were...special.”
“Jeremy, you’re hurting me,” I said, tugging my arm free. For a second, a strange light flashed in his eyes—a brief, angry spark—but then he released me, his hand falling limp by his side. He muttered an apology, his eyes trailing me even as I hurried away.
When I got home, Lily was already there, tapping away on her laptop. She looked up when I came in, her expression softening as she saw my flushed face and the red marks on my arm.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just...Jeremy.”
“Emma, this is getting weird. You need to tell him to back off.” She bit her lip, worry creasing her forehead. “Or I will.”
I waved her off, embarrassed, but a part of me was relieved she noticed. Maybe I wasn’t overreacting. Maybe he was going too far. But I’d tell him myself, I thought. I didn’t want to make it worse.
The next morning, I woke to a quiet apartment. Lily’s bed was empty, her things untouched. I assumed she’d left early, maybe went to the library or for a run, though she was usually one to leave a note. I texted her once, twice. No response.
By evening, worry settled heavy in my chest. I tried her phone again, hearing only the hollow rings on the ...
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