Not my room. Not the pulsing, fleshy dark from before. Somewhere worse.
The floor was smooth, cold — like stone, but too clean. The walls stretched high, endless black fading into a ceiling I couldn’t see. There was no light, yet I could see everything.
And I wasn’t alone.
They were everywhere. Silent figures, standing in rows, stretching out into the dark. Each one was frozen mid-movement — some reaching, some running, some screaming without sound. Their faces were blurred, twisted, like they weren’t finished being made.
My phone buzzed in my hand. My heart sank. I didn’t remember picking it up.
"Don’t move."
My breath hitched. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing anymore.
One of the figures twitched. A jerk, like a puppet on tangled strings. Its head snapped toward me.
My phone buzzed again.
"They only move when you do."
I swallowed hard, throat dry and raw. My legs burned to run, but I stayed still, heart slamming against my ribs.
The figure twitched again. Closer now. Too close. Its head wasn’t tilted like the stranger’s. It dangled, limp, skin stretched and sagging off its bones.
My phone buzzed again.
"You’re not supposed to be here."
I blinked — and in that blink, the figure wasn’t in front of me anymore. It was beside me. Inches away.
Its head jerked upright, snapping into place. The face didn’t blur anymore. It was mine.
My phone buzzed, vibrating so hard it hurt.
"Run."
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I ran.
The sound that followed wasn’t footsteps. It was louder. Heavier. Like something massive scraping against stone, chasing me through the dark.
The Stranger In My Photos 27 🤔🤔