Chapter 2: The Admin’s Warning

Honestly, the second I saw the admin’s message, I just froze.

My thumb hovered over the reply button, but I couldn’t remember what I’d meant to say. I just stared, heartbeat thudding in my ears. The little icon next to his name just glared back at me—this dude barely ever even acknowledged my existence. I tried to replay the last ten minutes in my head, trying to remember if I’d said something that made me sound crazy. The TV murmured quietly in the background, but everything else seemed to go silent. For a split second, I thought maybe this was some elaborate group prank.

Since joining the chat, I’d barely spoken to this guy. I’d tried to add him on Facebook a few times, but he shot me down every time.

The first time he ignored my friend request, I shrugged it off. But by the third time, I figured he was just a classic internet lurker—the kind who knows everyone but stays invisible. He never even reacted to my dog pics or the time I posted my dad’s embarrassing karaoke video.

Eventually, I figured he was just a lurker and stopped caring.

It was like he was a ghost on the roster, and I’d moved on. But tonight, the ghost reached out.

But tonight, after I vented in the group, this mysterious admin reached out directly.

I had this weird feeling, like when you realize you’ve left the oven on but can’t remember for sure. Why now, out of all nights?

Why? Because earlier, while things were getting steamy with my girlfriend, Aubrey, I bit the tattoo on her chest and she kicked me off the bed.

The whole thing replayed in my mind like a jump scare I couldn’t shake. I just wanted to complain, but somehow I accidentally added the admin as a friend.

What really freaked me out was what he said next.

"Does your girlfriend’s tattoo have a bright red cross-shaped mark?"

"If so, get out."

It was so specific—like, how would he know that? My girlfriend’s chest tattoo is definitely odd: a small, blurry-faced figure reaching out to grab a cross-shaped symbol.

I’d always thought it was artsy, in a kind of mysterious way, but it definitely wasn’t something you’d see on a Pinterest board. The lines were faded, the cross a deep crimson. In the right light, it looked almost like the figure was moving, reaching out of her skin. It always made me curious, but she’d brushed it off the first time I asked.

When we first started dating, I asked her about it because I was curious.

She smiled and said it was a birthmark she’d had since she was a baby, and to make it less noticeable, she’d gotten a small tattoo over it. She shrugged, tracing the lines with her finger, like it was no big deal.

Most people would never bring up something that personal, but she was so chill about it, I just let it slide.

But tonight, the admin just blurted it out.

The directness of it unsettled me. For someone so reserved, he sure knew how to cut to the bone. I felt exposed, like someone had been eavesdropping on a conversation that was never supposed to leave the room.

A chill ran down my spine. I replied, way more cautious now:

"Who are you? Do you know my girlfriend?"

I could almost hear my own heartbeat, my fingers trembling as I waited for his reply. It felt like when you send a risky text and watch the three little dots bounce in the chat window.

He didn’t reply for a while.

The silence stretched out, long enough for the fridge to kick on and for me to consider just blocking the dude. But I couldn’t look away.

Then: "I don’t know her, but from what you said in the group, I can guess. That mole on your girlfriend’s chest—what color is it now?"

I wanted to throw my phone across the room. What kind of creep even asks that?

The group admin had always seemed harmless, but now it felt like he was watching us through some invisible window.

I used to think the admin was just shy and harmless. Turns out I was naïve.

I wanted to laugh it off, but the knot in my stomach just kept getting tighter. I was about to block him when another message popped up:

"If it’s already bright red, you’re not far from being in real danger."

My hand froze over the block button. Against my better judgment, I typed back, curiosity winning out:

It was like something out of a true crime podcast—my brain screamed at me to bail, but my hands moved anyway, typing out: "What are you talking about?"

He seemed surprised:

I pictured him, somewhere out there in the dim light, squinting at his phone. His reply was quick, the words tumbling out faster now:

"What, you haven’t noticed anything weird about your girlfriend? Haven’t you seen the color of that mole changing—from brown to dark red, then brighter and brighter?"

I still thought he was just being a creep, but I couldn’t help but try to remember what color the mole had been.

I tried to replay every late-night cuddle, every lazy morning, searching my memory for the details. Had it changed? My brain felt like it was full of static.

Just then, my girlfriend came out of the bedroom and tossed a blanket at me.

The blanket hit me square in the face, smelling faintly of her lotion and that warm, lived-in scent of our apartment. She stood there, arms crossed, not meeting my eyes.

"You’re sleeping on the couch tonight. Don’t even think about coming near me."

Her voice was flat, but the words stung. I pulled the blanket off my head, trying to read her face. I instinctively glanced at her chest.

Through her paper-thin nightgown, I could see it clearly—a bright red dot on her chest.

It almost glowed under the kitchen light, sharp and angry, as if it was lit from within. I couldn’t look away.

The red was so vivid, it looked like it might start bleeding.

The thought sent a cold ripple down my arms, raising goosebumps. I shivered.