The whisper wasn’t just a sound — it felt like ice trailing down my neck. My muscles locked up, my body screaming to move, to run, but I couldn’t.
My phone buzzed again.
"Too late."
The broken mirror wasn’t a mirror anymore. It was a hole. Dark, endless, pulsing like it was breathing. The thing that wore my face was gone.
But something else stepped through.
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t anything that should exist.
Skin stretched too tight over bones that didn’t match. Too many joints. Its head tilted, jerking unnaturally, like it wasn’t sure how to wear the body it had stolen.
It didn’t have a face — just smooth, pale skin. But slowly, too slowly, a mouth tore open where one should’ve been.
It smiled.
My phone buzzed again, and my hand shook as I looked down.
"Run."
I dropped the phone.
The thing lunged.
I hit the ground hard, pain exploding through my side. The room spun, but I didn’t stop. I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the door.
The walls weren’t white anymore. They were wrong — shifting, pulsing like muscle, slick and wet. My feet stuck with every step, like the floor was trying to pull me down.
The sound of dragging came from behind me again. Closer. Faster.
My phone buzzed from the floor. A voice, distorted and broken, crackled from the speaker.
The Stranger In My Photos 23 🤔🤔