The Mood Ring

I found it in the back corner of a thrift store, hidden beneath a pile of broken jewelry. It was an old, tarnished mood ring with a thick, silver band that looked too big for any normal finger. The stone in the center had a dull, cloudy hue, but something about it caught my eye. Maybe it was the way the light flickered off it, or how it seemed to change colors ever so slightly with each shift in the room.

The clerk barely looked up as I brought it to the counter. She gave me an odd smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and said, “It’s a special piece. You sure you want it?”

I shrugged and handed over a few crumpled bills. It was only a few dollars, and I couldn’t explain why, but I felt like I had to have it. She nodded and slid it into a small box before handing it to me.

“Be careful with it,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I laughed it off. It was just a mood ring, right? One of those things that were popular in the 80s, an old relic from a time before the internet. No big deal.

That night, as I sat in my dimly lit bedroom, I decided to try it on. The ring felt cold against my skin as I slid it onto my finger. Immediately, it began to change color, shifting from a dull gray to a dark blue, then green, then red. I watched, mesmerized, as it cycled through the spectrum of hues, each one a strange mirror of my emotions. I wasn’t sure why it felt so different from any other mood ring I’d ever seen. This one felt… alive.

But as the colors flickered, I noticed something odd.

The red didn’t just signify anger, as I’d expected. It was like a warning—a deep, primal warning, one that made my heart race and my palms sweat. The ring was reacting to something I couldn’t see.

The next day, I wore the ring again. This time, it shifted to a deep purple. The color swirled like a storm, almost as if the stone itself was trying to tell me something. At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the ring was… watching me.

That night, I had a dream.

I was standing in the middle of an empty street, under a pale moon. The world around me was eerily still, as if time had stopped. I looked down at my finger and saw the ring glowing with an unnatural light. Suddenly, the air grew thick, and a voice—low, guttural—whispered from the darkness.

“You shouldn’t have put it on.”

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. The ring was still on my finger. It felt… warmer now. Hot, almost. And the colors were shifting in a pattern I didn’t recognize. They moved like a heartbeat, quickening as I stared at them, until they settled on a sickly yellow.

I took the ring off that night, setting it on my dresser, but the next morning, it was back on my finger. I tried to take it off again, but it wouldn’t budge. The metal had fused with my skin, like it had become part of me. Panic crept in. I yanked at it, but it was as if the ring was pulling me, holding me in place.

The color shifted again, this time settling on a deep black. I felt a chill run down my spine. I could hear something—scratching, almost like nails against the floor, echoing through my mind. I looked around my room, but nothing was there. The feeling was overwhelming, like something was watching me from the shadows.

And then… I saw it.

A figure, standing at the edge of my doorway. Its shape was indistinct, blurry, like a shadow that didn’t quite belong. But I could feel its gaze, cold and hungry. It took a step forward, and the air around it seemed to distort.

I screamed. The ring’s color shifted again, from black to red, and the figure lunged. But just before it reached me, I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if the ring had grown into me, digging into my very soul.

I woke up again, but this time, I wasn’t in my room.

I was standing in a dark void, the weight of the ring pulling me down, suffocating me. There was no air, no sound—only the pulsating glow of the ring in the endless darkness. The voice returned, whispering in my ear.

“You wanted to feel, didn’t you? Now, you’ll never stop.”

I don’t know how much time passed, but when I opened my eyes, I was back in my room. I was still wearing the ring, and it was still warm, still changing colors, but now… now, it was different.

I could feel it. It was inside me, beneath my skin. The ring was no longer just a thing I wore. It had become a part of me, an extension of something darker, something ancient.

And when I looked in the mirror, I saw something else—something with me.

It was there in my reflection, standing behind me, its face just a blur of shadow and shifting colors, but it smiled. A wide, twisted smile.

Now, I can’t take it off. The ring has claimed me, and with every passing day, the colors change faster. The voice is always there, whispering promises of things I can’t quite understand, things I fear to know.

I think I’ve become like it. Like the shadow. Like whatever it is that wants me. I don’t know how much time I have left.

All I know is, I’m not alone anymore.

And neither are you.

Because once the ring chooses you, it never lets go.

So, if you ever find an old mood ring—be careful.

If it calls to you, don’t pick it up.

It’s already watching you.

Credit: Cedric Mussi