The Stranger in My Photos 8
I locked every door and window last night. Double-checked them all.
But when I woke up, my front door was wide open. The chain lock dangled, snapped clean in half like it was nothing.
A new photo was waiting on the floor. It was me, asleep in my bed — taken from the doorway.
He wasn’t in this one.
But the closet door behind me was open.
And I know I closed it.
I didn’t want to look. Every part of me screamed to leave the room, the apartment, everything. But I couldn’t stop myself. My legs moved on their own.
The closet was empty. Clothes, shoes, old boxes — nothing unusual.
Then I noticed the smell. Stale, sour, like sweat and something else. Rotting wood, maybe.
That’s when I saw it.
In the back corner, scratched deep into the wall behind my clothes:
"MOVE OVER."
The letters were shaky, uneven. Fresh. Tiny flakes of drywall scattered on the floor.
I stared at the words, heart pounding, when I heard it.
A slow, dragging breath. Not from the closet.
From the doorway behind me.

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Thanks for sharing 💙
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👌👌👌
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