When I was in middle school there was a girl who loved scary things. She would always bring in ghost story books and taunt me like an ant with a magnifying glass because I didn’t like scary things.
That was uncool of me.
And now everytime I see the clock strike 11:11pm I think of her, and a chill runs down my back. It gets cold.
Because in her ghost story she said a couple of teens died in an accident, and when they died the clock flashed 11:11pm and that was the way they communicate with the living.