The hand gave a thumbs up and retreated back into the floorboards.

The line went dead. Brenda shrugged, tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, missed, and watched as a pale, soggy hand reached out from under the sofa to catch it. "Nice catch," she said.

"It’s a curse!" the voice yelled, regaining its edge. "You will see the ring! You will feel the cold! You will—"

Brenda looked at the handset, then back at her popcorn. She knew the legend. If you watch the cursed tape, the phone rings. If you answer it, a gravelly voice tells you that you have seven days to live. She picked it up.

There was a long, confused silence on the line. "I... I have to check with my manager," the voice stammered.

"Great," Brenda said, leaning back. "Also, is this death by supernatural curse or just a really aggressive flu? Because if it’s the curse, I need to know if I should buy a waterproof casket. I saw the tape. That girl is dripping ."

The phone on the mahogany side table didn’t just ring; it shrieked.