Chapter 2: The Tip That Haunts

Our livestream? All an act. Yeah, we’re hustlers. We were just hustling the TikTok fortune-telling trend. The three of us had it down to a science—costumes, lighting, and just the right amount of drama. Sometimes, you gotta fake it till you make it.

After the haunted house in town shut down—thanks, COVID—we were out of work and almost broke. Josh saw some psychic getting famous online and pitched the idea. The three of us went in on it. Sometimes you have to hustle a little to keep the lights on.

To celebrate, I volunteered to buy late-night snacks, wallet in one hand, keys in the other, giving the couple some alone time. I still couldn’t wipe the grin off my face from the night’s success.

As I waited for barbecue at the food truck, I spotted a fortune-telling booth across the street. The guy in a yellow raincoat stared at me, serious as death. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Stephen King novel. I shivered. No reason, right? Just nerves.

“Miss, you’ve got a shadow on you. How about a free reading, on the house?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the city noise like a knife. The hairs on my arms stood up.

The smell of grilled ribs drifted over. He kept staring. Was he after my food or something else? Either way, I wasn’t about to let him have either.

I clutched my takeout and turned away. No way was I sharing my brisket with a stranger, spooky or not. Priorities, you know?

My phone buzzed—a notification from TikTok. Under the streetlights, the smoke curled, and I checked my messages. The top tipper from earlier had sent a bunch of DMs:

[You’re scammers!]

[Give me my money back! Or I’ll find you!]

[I’m at your door.]

[Give it back, or give your life.]

Okay, that’s... not normal. The last video was of Marissa and Josh, faces ghostly white, hanging from the ceiling fan. The image was grainy, but unmistakable. My stomach dropped to my sneakers.

I yelped and dropped my phone. “Shit!” The screen cracked, spiderwebbing across Marissa’s terrified face. My hands shook as I picked it up.

The fortune teller called out, “You shouldn’t mess with evil spirits, Miss. Maybe let me help, or tonight’s gonna get ugly.” His voice was almost kind now, but there was something cold behind it. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.

Was he talking about the stream? I forced a nervous laugh. No way. Josh was the king of pranks. They must be messing with me. Still, my hands were shaking, and my mouth had gone dry. This was getting way too real.

But hey, the reading was free. Free’s free, right? I squared my shoulders and walked over, trying to play it cool. No way was I backing down in front of some street psychic.

At the empty intersection, the fortune booth looked extra creepy. I sat down, playing it cool. “Alright, tell me about my so-called disaster.” I tapped my foot, trying to hide the fact that my knee was bouncing.

He set a compass on the table. The needle spun, then fixed behind me. The air felt thick, like the city itself was holding its breath. I swallowed hard.

“You live in Maple Heights, right?”

I stared. “How’d you know?!” My voice cracked. Stalker much? I tried to play it off, but my pulse was pounding.

He smiled. “You’ve got bad luck, but it hasn’t landed yet. Your friends might already be in trouble.” His words were slow, deliberate, and I felt cold all over. My hands went numb.

He glanced at my phone. I got a message from Marissa—a photo of the top tipper grabbing her, holding a kitchen knife. The image was blurry, but the fear in her eyes was real. My breath caught.

I dropped my phone. The fortune teller snatched it up, drew a wooden cross, and said, “Now do you believe me?” He held the cross like a shield, his knuckles white. My heart hammered in my chest.

I grabbed his sleeve, panicking. “Call 911!” My grip was sweaty, desperate.

He shook his head. “Cops catch people. Are you sure this is a person?” His eyes were dark, almost bottomless. Was I? I didn’t know anymore.

My heart pounded. The top tipper had found my place and killed Marissa and Josh in five minutes? That wasn’t human… My skin crawled. I felt like I was about to be sick.

Suddenly, I remembered: the tipper’s profile. He’d spent his savings tipping streamers, hoping for love, then jumped off a bridge after being scammed. The memory hit me like getting sucker-punched. My breath came out in a gasp.

The fortune teller said, “Did you take a dead man’s money?” My mouth went dry. I could barely nod.

About five hundred bucks. My voice barely made it out. “About $500…”

“Dead money brings evil. You shouldn’t have been so greedy.” Greedy? We were just trying to survive. My jaw clenched, but I didn’t argue.

“We didn’t know!” I blurted, desperate. My mind raced for a way out.

“He likes you. That tip was a bride price—to marry you as a ghost bride.” Oh, hell no. My stomach flipped.

“What do I do?!” I could barely breathe. My hands shook so bad I almost dropped my wallet.

He pulled out a Venmo QR code. “Special discount, $800. I’ll save your friends too.” Seriously? I almost laughed, but I was too freaked out.

I paid up. The lights went out, the door swung open, and in the dark, I heard the ceiling fan creak. My breath caught in my throat, and I nearly bolted. My knees felt weak.

I followed him in, terrified. Marissa and Josh were hanging from the fan, laid out on the floor. The room stank of chemicals. The ghost was gone. The silence was thick, suffocating. I wanted to bolt.

The fortune teller prayed, waving his cross, burning paper, sprinkling ashes. Nothing. Not a damn thing. He started sweating. Suddenly, a white mist filled the room, then cleared, revealing a pentagram drawn in blood. In the middle was a man, tied up. This was getting out of hand.

“Crap! It’s a setup!”

The fortune teller tried to run, but the door was locked. He spun and ran straight into Marissa and Josh’s ghostly faces. Tough break. He fainted. His knees hit the floor with a thud, and I almost felt sorry for him.