My throat tightened. I wanted to run, but my legs felt rooted to the ground. My phone buzzed in my hand, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence.
Another photo.
It wasn’t my room anymore. It looked like my room, but the colors were off — too dull, too dead. The window showed nothing but black, like the outside world didn’t exist.
And in the corner, where my mirror used to be, he stood.
His head was tilted again, but this time it wasn’t a grin on his face. It was something worse. His lips were parted, like he was about to speak.
My phone buzzed again.
A message.
"You’re almost ready."
Ready for what? My chest felt tight, panic clawing its way up my throat. My hand hovered over the doorknob. I didn’t even remember moving.
Another buzz.
"Don’t open the door."
I froze.
Something shifted in the hallway, a soft scrape against the floor.
My phone vibrated once more, and this time, it wasn’t a message or a photo. It was a live feed.
The camera was facing my bedroom door.
From the hallway.
The feed flickered, and I saw it — a shadow, too tall, too thin, standing just out of sight. But I knew it was him.
I watched, heart pounding, as the figure leaned closer to the camera.
He didn’t have a face this time.
Just skin, stretched too tight where his features should be.
The Stranger In My Photos 17 🤔🤔