The beach dissolved into darkness, and I wasn’t standing anymore. I was sinking.
Cold water filled my lungs, but I didn’t choke. My body wasn’t listening to me anymore. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The ocean wasn’t water — it was black, heavy, and alive. It slithered against my skin, pulling me deeper.
Then, I heard his voice. My voice.
“You’re not sinking. You’re being replaced.”
The weight lifted, and I shot upright — gasping for air. But I wasn’t on the beach anymore. I was in my room. My old room. The posters, the books, the faded blue walls… exactly how I remembered it as a kid.
Except for the mirror.
It wasn’t cracked now. It was polished and clean. My reflection stared back. Only, it wasn’t mine. It was his. He tilted his head again, just slightly — enough to make my stomach twist.
“You lasted longer than the others,” he said, his voice smooth. Almost impressed. “But it’s over now.”
I took a shaky step forward. “No… no, I’m still here.”
His smile sharpened. “Are you?”
He stepped away from the mirror. And for the first time, I saw what was behind him.
Photos. Hundreds of them.
Each one was a different person. Boys, girls, adults. All of them staring. All of them wearing the same empty expression.
And I recognized one of them.
It was me.
Not me now — me from last week. Smiling, carefree. The version of me before this nightmare began.
My reflection leaned in closer, his face almost touching the glass.
The Stranger In My Photos 52 🤔🤔