The Stranger in My Photos 31
I stared at the mirror. My reflection stared back — but it wasn’t me.
It moved too smoothly, too perfectly. Like it had practiced being me for a long time.
I raised my hand, and so did it. But a second too late.
It wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
My phone buzzed in my hand, but I didn’t dare look away from the mirror. I couldn’t.
The reflection tilted its head.
I didn’t.
My phone buzzed again. Relentless.
I swallowed hard and glanced down for half a second. Just half a second.
The message read:
"Look up."
My heart stopped.
I looked back at the mirror — and it was empty.
No reflection. No me. Just my room behind me.
My chest tightened, panic clawing at my throat. I spun around. Nothing. The room was exactly as it should be.
But when I turned back to the mirror...
He was there. Behind me.
Not in the room. In the mirror.
His face was still mine, but warped. Stretched. His grin was too wide, his eyes too black.
He didn’t blink.
My phone buzzed again. I couldn’t breathe.
"He likes it better out there."
The reflection raised a hand, not to mimic me — but to wave.
Then it turned and walked away.
I didn’t know where it was going. But it wasn’t staying.
And I couldn’t follow.
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The Stranger In My Photos 31 🤔🤔