She was fourteen, username @starbaby_14, bio read: “Pisces sun • manifesting my glow-up • DM for $5 mini readings 🌙”.
Phone propped on a stack of dog-eared manga, ring light haloing her braids like cheap divinity. Live every Thursday at 8 p.m. WAT. Same script: “Hey loves, drop your big three in the comments and I’ll pull one card for whoever’s vibe hits strongest tonight.”
That night the comments flooded faster than usual. Maybe because school just let out, maybe because someone reposted her “this placement means your ex is coming back” clip and it hit 400k. She scrolled, laughing, picking names at random.
“@juiceboxx99 – sun Aries, moon Scorpio, rising Leo. Ooh, intense. Card is… The Tower reversed. Babe, something’s about to crack open but it’s not collapsing. It’s… rearranging? Wait.”
She paused. The chat slowed. No one typed. She blinked at the screen like the pixels had lagged.
“Uh… okay, next. @ghostedbyvenus – sun Cancer, moon Pisces… same as me basically lol. Card is The High Priestess. Secrets coming to light. Someone’s watching you closer than you think.”
Her laugh cracked halfway. She rubbed her eye, smudging liner. “Weird energy tonight, y’all. Like the cards feel… sticky.”
She kept going. Pulled for five more. Each time the same hitch: a second of silence after naming the card, like the algorithm held its breath. Then the comments would rush back in emojis and “periodt” and “spill”.
At 8:47 she yawned, stretched. “Last one, loves. Make it count.”
@voidstaresback_000 – no profile pic, no bio, just a black square. Big three not listed. Just: “read me.”
She hesitated. “Okay… mysterious. I’m pulling blind.” She fanned the deck, closed her eyes for drama, slid one out.
The card faced her before she turned it. Not The Fool or Death or even The Devil like she half-expected for clicks.
It was blank.
Not white. Not empty. Just… nothing. The rectangle stared back like a switched-off screen. She frowned, tapped it. Nothing changed.
“Guys… this card is—” She stopped. The ring light flickered once, hard, like someone walked between it and the bulb.
Chat exploded: “WTF”, “glitch?”, “summoned something omg”.
She forced a giggle. “Okay, technical difficulties. Maybe my deck’s tired. I’ll—”
The phone vibrated in her hand. Not a notification. A low, grinding buzz, like old modem static. She almost dropped it.
On screen the live counter froze at 1,247 viewers. But the comments kept coming. Faster. No usernames. Just:
seen
seen
seen
seen
She stared. Tried to end the live. The button wouldn’t press. Her thumb slid through it like mist.
A new message pinned itself at the top, bold, no @:
“you looked first.”
Her breath hitched. She looked up—straight into the camera. Into the tiny black lens that had been staring back the whole time.
Behind her reflection in the glass, something shifted. Not in the room. In the frame. A shape that wasn’t there when she set up. No face. Just the absence of one, pressed close to her shoulder like it had been reading the cards over her.
She whispered, “Stop.”
The shape didn’t move. It waited. Patient. The way things wait when they already know you’ll keep talking.
She reached to cover the camera. Fingers trembling. The moment her palm touched the lens, the buzzing stopped.
So did her breathing.
The live ended itself.
Next morning the account was still up. 1.2 million followers overnight. Pinned video: forty-seven seconds of black screen. No sound. Just white text fading in at the end:
“your turn.”
No one’s seen her go live since.
But every Thursday at 8 p.m. WAT, if you search her username, the viewer count climbs anyway.
Starts at zero.
Ends wherever you stop looking.
