Darkness swallowed the room. My breath came fast and sharp, heart slamming against my ribs. I couldn’t see — couldn’t hear anything except the faint hum of the house settling.
Then, a voice.
Not from my phone this time. From the dark.
“Sweetie?”
My mom’s voice. Soft. Close. Too close.
I felt her breath on the back of my neck.
I didn’t turn around.
My phone buzzed in my hand, the screen lighting up my bloody fingers. A new message.
"It’s not her."
My throat tightened. My whole body shook.
“Come on,” the voice whispered, just behind my ear. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word felt wrong. Twisted.
My phone buzzed again.
"Don’t move."
I stood there, frozen, tears burning in my eyes. My mom — or whatever was pretending to be her — spoke again, softer this time.
“You’re so tired, sweetie. Let me help you. Just turn around.”
My phone buzzed one more time.
I looked.
It wasn’t my mom.
The thing standing behind me wore her face, but the skin didn’t fit right anymore. It sagged at the edges, like a mask melting off. Her eyes were wrong too — too black, too wide, stretching unnaturally as they locked onto mine.
Her head tilted with a sickening crack.
“There you are,” she said, her voice breaking into something deeper. Something not human.
The Stranger In My Photos 37 🤔🤔