The smile in the mirror stretched wider — too wide. My stomach twisted.
My phone buzzed. Another message:
"It’s not a reflection."
My blood went cold.
The thing in the mirror leaned closer, placing one hand against the glass. Its fingers were too long, joints bending the wrong way. My hand, the real one, stayed limp at my side.
It wasn’t copying me anymore. It was watching me.
Another buzz.
"He’s tired of watching."
The thing in the mirror raised its other hand — and knocked on the glass.
Three slow, hollow taps.
My phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t a message. It was a live feed.
The camera showed me… standing in the room. But from behind.
Something moved just over my shoulder.
I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to see.
But I didn’t have to.
The mirror thing spoke. Its voice wasn’t mine. It wasn’t human. It was dry, raspy — like something trying to remember how to sound alive.
"He’s here."
The lights flickered. The phone buzzed one last time.
The Stranger In My Photos 21 🤔🤔