The Stranger in My Photos 39

The thing on the porch didn’t move. It just stared, wearing my face like a cheap mask.

My phone buzzed again.

"Let me in."

My head was spinning. My heart pounded in my ears, loud enough to drown out the wet shuffle of whatever was still crawling behind me.

The thing outside tilted its head further, too far, like its neck didn’t have bones. It raised a hand and knocked — once, twice — slow and deliberate.

The sound echoed through me.

I stepped back. My voice shook. "You’re not me."

It smiled wider.

My phone buzzed.

"I am now."

Behind me, the thing wearing my mom’s skin let out a wet, gurgling laugh. “You can’t stop it, sweetie. It’s already inside.”

I felt something cold brush my shoulder. I didn’t look.

The thing outside knocked again — faster this time.

My phone buzzed.

"Let me in."

The door started to pull open on its own. My hand was still on the knob, but I wasn’t the one moving it. The me on the porch stepped forward.

My phone buzzed.

"It’s okay. You can rest now. I’ll take over."

My knees shook. My throat tightened. I didn’t know whether to run or fight or scream.

Then the version of me outside spoke.

Its voice was soft. Familiar. But not mine. Not really.

“You’ve been here long enough,” it said. “It’s my turn now.”

It reached for me.

And I let go of the door.


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More to come, read up!
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Omo