The breath on my neck stayed, cold and steady. My body refused to move, like even the smallest twitch might invite whatever was behind me to finish what it started.
But then the voice spoke again — low, raspy, almost amused.
“Do you really think you’re the only one he’s worn?”
My stomach twisted.
The room felt too quiet now, too heavy. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. “Who… who are you?”
The voice didn’t answer.
Instead, something scraped against the floor behind me — slow, deliberate, like nails dragging on wood.
“You’re wearing his face, too.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “That’s not true.”
The sound stopped. The voice chuckled — a dry, broken sound.
“Isn’t it?”
I felt a sudden shift in the air, like whatever was behind me leaned closer. My skin prickled.
“Why do you think he left you the photos?”
I didn’t understand. My mind raced. He wasn’t leaving me photos — he was taunting me. Right? That’s what this was. A sick, twisted game.
The voice answered my thoughts like it heard them.
“No. He wasn’t showing you him. He was showing you what you’re becoming.”
The words hit me like ice.
My breath caught. My voice came out a shaky whisper. “You’re lying.”
The thing behind me laughed again — a deep, hollow sound that felt too close to my ear.
“Go ahead. Look.”
I didn’t want to. God, I didn’t want to.
But my body moved on its own, like I wasn’t in control anymore. My head turned slowly, bit by bit.
And I saw him.
But it wasn’t him.
It was me.
My face — hollowed, stretched, eyes sunken and empty. My skin was pale, almost gray. My mouth curled into a grin, but it wasn’t mine. It was too wide, too sharp.
“Took you long enough.”
The thing wearing my face lunged.
The room went black.
And I woke up in my bed.
Sweating. Shaking. My heart racing.
For a second, I thought it was a dream. A nightmare. Until I saw my phone on the nightstand, screen already on.
1 new photo.
I picked it up with trembling hands.
It wasn’t my room.
It was a hospital room.
And I was in the bed. Eyes closed. Tubes in my arms.
My face looked hollow. Sunken. Like I hadn’t woken up in weeks.
My phone buzzed again. A message this time.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them while you’re gone.”
The Stranger Who Wore My Face 9