Third Place Winner of the 2026 “Strange Encounters” Flash Fiction Contest
Meeting Vicky’s friends had been going well for the first few hours.
Introducing myself as a foreign exchange student to the class made Vicky crowd my desk after first period. I was still learning how to carry all the textbooks required when she pointed out the way that I scratched my thumb’s hangnail, claiming she had the same “nervous habit,” as she called it. That surprised and intrigued me; I thought it only bothered me. She invited me to her mostly private birthday sleepover, exclaiming she wouldn’t let a new senior go without friends.
Navigating an address was new, especially without the device Vicky had shown me her house and cats on. I was late, but her mother let me in, and Vicky stood from the circle she and two other girls made from sitting on the floor. She hugged me and dragged me down to join them in what she called a “bored” game.
“Why would you play a ‘bored’ game for fun?”
The girls laughed at that, but their jaws hung low when my face scrunched in confusion. They were quick to pull out a thick booklet, and somewhere in the middle of rule explanations, Abigail and Shea introduced themselves. I hadn’t seen them before, but from the limited movies I managed to catch, I expected the two senior girls to be sideways glances and sneers. In this scenario, I would be the outcast main character. They only smiled and laughed, though.
I must have been incredibly nervous then as we sat around the board, halfway through the game. It was something about love and crafting, and I was enjoying listening to the other three, but I couldn’t focus. The skin of my thumb was begging to be peeled off, one thin layer at a time. The quiet, constant itch of my skin was suddenly at the forefront of my mind. I had never worn it so long.
There was no feeling from my nails on my skin, other than the itch dying down before flaring up again. I still felt nothing when Abigail pointed toward the hand causing my discomfort, “Hey, you got some, uh, ink on your hand.”
Looking down, I took in the dot of black that bloomed from the side of my thumb, where the hangnail was. I did nothing as the liquid slowly slid down into the grooves of my fingerprint, only blinking in bewilderment. Slowly, I stood from the floor. The other girls stared as I moved to the door, “I’ll go wash it off.”
“Bathroom’s down the hall on the right!”
The door closed behind me before Vicky finished, but I could only focus on rushing down the hall and stumbling my way into a bathroom. I only bothered with shutting the door, fumbling with the sink in the dark with only dusk’s rays from the window lighting the space. The scalding water ran over my thumb, and I ignored the way my skin reddened as I held it there.
The black liquid swirled in the base of the sink before sliding down the drain. I held the thumb up out of the water after, watching as that same dark liquid beaded from the side of my nail. A few rounds of pressing my thumb under the faucet resulted in the same outcome; black smeared where I scratched my hangnail. I held it over my head to stare at the hard, torn piece of skin, unflinching as drips of black hit my cheeks, then lip.
There was one fix I could think of.
It took a bit of effort for my nails to get a proper hold on my skin. The sharp excess seemed to want to slip from my fingers, and I considered tweezers just before catching it. If getting the skin was hard, pulling it was impossible. It seemed like stone attached to my skin as I attempted to pull it back, losing my grip more than a few times.
Then I felt the peeling.
There was a brief sensation of relief when the hangnail was pulled back. The hardened piece of skin came up with a tug, then it was easy to strip my skin of the hangnail. Then my cuticle. I didn’t know when to stop pulling and only paused when there was a clear line from my thumb nail to the end of my forearm.
Black liquid flooded the sink in warm splashes, blotting out the sink’s white porcelain. My arm was dyed a shade darker as the liquid poured from the new opening in my skin. Underneath, a black mass festered. It was always fascinating to see revealed parts of myself with false skin wrapped around me, like a blanket. But it always meant my fun was up.
I considered the bathroom window, and how easy it would be to unlock and slip through. However, I didn’t move. My mind filled only with Vicky, standing at the end of my desk and relating herself to an inch I had thought inhuman, inviting me to her party after only a few minutes of talking. I thought of the ‘bored’ game, and how the name did not fit. Shae spoke in a deep voice to make Vicky laugh, and Abigail splayed the rules between us as we played.
The bathroom was still for a moment. Then I reached for the small medicine cabinet next to the mirror. I had taken many forms before, but none struck me quite like this one. It took, one, two, three layers of gauze to hide the loose segment of skin on my arm, hidden then by my long sleeves. I left the bathroom, less than confident that my adjustments were convincing enough to go without question.
Perhaps I would be able to pretend for a little longer.
Bailey Peters is a junior at Kennesaw State University, pursuing a degree in Game Design as well as two minors and honors. She currently has two stories published at Waymark Magazine and another at Carmina Magazine. She loves interactive storytelling and hopes to write for TTRPGs and video games in the future. To stay updated on her work, you can follow her on Instagram under @bailey._._maple