The Stranger in My Photos 34
The blanket twitched again. A slow, jerky movement — like whatever was under it wasn’t sure how to move properly.
My chest tightened. I didn’t want to look.
My phone buzzed.
"It’s almost ready."
Ready for what?
The lump shifted higher. A muffled sound came from beneath the blanket, wet and strained — like someone trying to breathe through water.
I stepped back. My heel hit the mirror.
The reflection wasn’t watching me anymore.
The stranger and my mom were watching the bed.
Their heads tilted in perfect sync.
Another buzz.
"Help it. It wants to be you too."
I couldn’t stop shaking. My voice came out in a broken whisper.
“Who are you?”
The stranger finally looked at me again.
This time, he answered.
My phone didn’t buzz.
His voice came from the mirror. From my mom’s mouth. From the thing under the blanket — all at once, overlapping, broken, wrong.
"We’re what’s left of the ones before you."
The lump under the blanket stopped moving. The room went deadly silent.
Then the blanket started to pull back — slowly — on its own.
My phone buzzed one last time.
"Don’t scream. It hates that."
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The Stranger In My Photos 34