The boardwalk had been condemned since before any of us were born, but the dare never died: six kids, one flashlight, the Hall of Mirrors at the dead end of the pier. Salt wind rattled the boarded ticket booth as we squeezed inside. The air went still and warm, like breath. Then our six reflections stepped in beside us, perfectly in time. "Okay," Maya whispered. "Now what?"

"We split up," Jay said. "Cover more ground, find the exit faster." Nobody loved it, but he was already walking. We broke into pairs, the flashlight beam slicing between glass walls. Within seconds I couldn't hear the others anymore, just my own footsteps and my reflection matching them.

I followed the wall with my hand, counting turns to find my way back. But the glass got warm under my fingers, then soft, like skin. My reflection pressed its palm flat against mine from the other side and pushed. The mirror gave a little. "Stop it," I said out loud, voice shaking.

I yanked my hand off the glass and ran. The flashlight beam bounced wild, but I followed the cold draft of sea air until I burst out the broken board into the night. I counted heads on the pier. Only five of us made it out. Behind the glass, a sixth face pressed close, mouthing my name. We never went back.