Curse Of The Bottle Man

Table of Contents

Linda had been teaching for the past three years, and she loved everything about it. She loved her students most of all. They filled her days with noise, laughter, and—sometimes—headaches, but always with a strange, grounding sense of purpose. She knew their quirks, their handwriting, even the little things that made them nervous or excited.

Helping them wasn’t just part of her job; it was something she took to heart. If one of them needed a snack because they forgot their lunch, she had extra crackers in her desk. If another was feeling down, she’d sit with them after class and talk. She had quietly promised herself that she’d be that steady presence for them, every single day.

That morning was no different. She left her apartment alongside her colleague and next-door neighbor, Grace, who taught third grade in the same school. The two of them walked together every morning, chatting about lesson plans, noisy classrooms, and the occasional gossip about the principal’s odd tie choices.

When they arrived, the hallways were alive with the sound of slamming lockers, hurried footsteps, and the warm chaos of children settling in. Linda made her way toward her classroom when she caught a few familiar voices just around the corner.

It was a group of her students—Jamie and two of his friends. They didn’t see her as she slowed her pace, listening.

“The game is called The Bottle Man, and it’s really simple,”

Jamie was saying, his voice low but brimming with the thrill of sharing something forbidden. The other boys leaned in.

“How do you play?”

Jamie’s tone became more dramatic, as if he were telling a ghost story around a campfire.

“You stand in front of a mirror with one eye closed, and you put an empty glass bottle over the other eye. You look through the bottle into the mirror and say: ‘Bottle Man, Bottle Man, Bottle Man, look me in the eye and fill my mouth with red.’”

The way he said it made Linda’s skin prickle, but she wasn’t sure why. Jamie started to explain more, but the bell rang. The boys scattered toward their classrooms, Jamie tossing Linda a quick wave as he passed.

By the time her first break came, Linda couldn’t get the name Bottle Man out of her head. It felt… wrong. Maybe it was because of how Jamie had lowered his voice, or maybe it was the strange phrase about filling my mouth with red.

She sat at her desk, coffee growing cold beside her, and pulled out her phone. A quick search turned up nothing—no urban legends, no news stories, no chain emails from years ago. The only results were boring stock images of glass bottles filled with red wine, juice, or soda. Not even a Reddit post. She leaned back, exhaling. Probably just Jamie making up a scary game to get his friends worked up. Kids loved trying to outdo each other with creepy stories, especially the week before Halloween.

The day went on as usual. By the time the final bell rang, she’d almost forgotten about it. She stayed after school, as she always did, to make sure her students got picked up safely. She waved to each parent, chatted briefly, and finally locked her classroom door.

On her walk home, she stopped at the corner store for milk, bread, and some snacks. The late-autumn air was cool enough to make her wish she’d brought a thicker coat. She reached her apartment just after sunset, dropped her bag on the couch, and headed straight to the bathroom to wash her hands.

Dinner was simple. Pasta with tomato sauce, and she ate it while half-watching a sitcom. But as the night dragged on, boredom set in. The silence between the laugh tracks made the apartment feel empty. Her thoughts drifted back to Jamie’s voice, that strange little chant. She chuckled to herself. Why not? It wasn’t like anything would happen.

She fetched an empty wine bottle from the kitchen and rinsed it under the tap. Holding it in one hand, she stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. The mirror above the sink reflected her own faintly amused expression.

“Alright, Jamie,”

She muttered.

“Let’s meet your Bottle Man.”

She closed her left eye, pressed the mouth of the bottle over her right, and leaned toward the glass.

“Bottle Man, Bottle Man, Bottle Man… look me in the eye and fill my mouth with red.”

Her voice sounded strange, muffled through the bottle’s opening. She waited, half-expecting the lights to flicker or a chill to run down her spine. Nothing happened.

She smirked, about to lower the bottle, when a thought crossed her mind.

“Oh, silly Jamie,”

She said aloud, shaking her head.

Snap. The sound was sharp, like someone breaking a twig, but it came from directly behind her. She turned. Standing in the narrow bathroom doorway was a figure. Its skin looked damp and grey, as though it had been soaking in cold water for hours. In one hand it held a glass bottle, the bottom clouded with some thick, reddish liquid. In the other was a jagged shard of glass, the edges catching the light.

The face was mostly hidden in shadow, but the mouth… the mouth was too wide, stretching upward into a grin that didn’t belong on a human face. Linda froze, the wine bottle slipping slightly in her trembling hand.

In one swift movement, the figure lunged. The shard of glass pierced her left eye before she could scream. Pain bloomed hot and blinding as she collapsed against the sink. Something hard and cold pressed into her mouth—the neck of the other bottle—and the liquid poured in, choking her, filling her throat with the coppery taste of blood.

Her last glimpse before darkness was the distorted reflection in the bathroom mirror: herself on the floor, and behind her, the Bottle Man, grinning.

The next morning, Grace knocked on Linda’s door. When she got no answer, she tried the handle and found it slightly ajar. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. She stepped inside, calling Linda’s name. No response. On the bathroom floor, she saw two bottles—one empty, one full. The second was heavy with dark red liquid that sloshed when she stepped closer. Her stomach turned. She stumbled back into the hallway and called the police. The investigation yielded nothing that made sense. There was no sign of forced entry. No fingerprints except Linda’s and Grace’s. The bottle full of blood was sent for testing—it belonged to Linda.

But the case took a stranger turn when they visited the school. Jamie, the boy who had told his friends about the Bottle Man, was found at home—pale, limp, and completely drained of blood. No wounds. No broken glass. Just an empty bottle lying on his bed.

If you ask the students now, they’ll tell you Jamie’s game never existed. Some swear they never heard of it. Others say if you look through the bottom of a bottle into a mirror, you’ll see a shadow move where you shouldn’t. No one dares to say the words out loud.