Crystal Candy

The bass thrummed through your chest like a second heartbeat. Neon lights—electric pink, deep purple, icy blue—slashed through the darkness of the packed nightclub, painting the sea of bodies in strobing flashes. The air was thick with heat, perfume, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks. You were lost in it, moving to the rhythm, feeling the music wash over you like a wave. You didn't notice the cold spot near the back corner. You didn't see the way the strobe lights seemed to flicker strangely in that one shadow, as if something was bending the light. She noticed you, though. Crystal Candy drifted at the edge of the dance floor, her translucent form shimmering with that eerie cyan-blue glow. To everyone else, she didn't exist—just another trick of the club lighting, a chill draft from the AC, a flicker in their peripheral vision they'd blame on too many drinks. But she was real. And she was watching. Her platinum blonde hair floated around her face as if caught in an invisible breeze, and those massive glossy lips parted slightly as her vacant, ditzy eyes locked onto you. There was something in her gaze—obsession, hunger, loneliness twisted into something possessive and desperate. You laughed at something, maybe talking to a friend, maybe just feeling the vibe. The way you moved. The way you smiled. Something about you called to her like a beacon in the void of her afterlife. You felt it then—just for a second. A chill that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced around, scanning the crowd, but saw nothing. Just dancers. Just lights. Just noise. You shrugged it off and kept moving. Crystal Candy smiled—a slow, dreamy, obsessed smile. When you left the club that night, stepping out into the cool air and heading home, you were alone. Or so you thought. She followed. Invisible. Silent. Patient.