I didn’t think — my legs moved before my brain could catch up. The thing wearing my mom’s face lunged, but it moved wrong, like a puppet with its strings tangled.
Its arms jerked too fast, then too slow, swiping at the air as I stumbled past.
“Don’t leave me, sweetie,” it called, voice cracking. It didn’t sound human anymore. It sounded hungry.
I slammed into the front door again, fingers scrambling at the lock. My phone buzzed wildly in my pocket, but I ignored it. I had to get out.
The thing behind me dragged itself closer. I heard the wet slap of its feet on the floor, the scrape of its nails on the walls.
“You’re ours now,” it whispered. But the voice wasn’t my mom’s anymore. It wasn’t even one voice. It was many.
My hand found the lock. It finally twisted free.
I yanked the door open — and froze.
There was someone standing on the porch.
It was me.
No — it wasn’t. Not really. The face was mine, but the eyes were hollow and sunken, the skin too pale. It stared at me, head tilted, the same way the stranger always did.
It smiled. My smile.
My phone buzzed again, hard enough to rattle in my pocket.
The Stranger In My Photos 38 🤔🤔