The Stranger in My Photos 54

I didn’t sleep last night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them — the shadows with too many eyes, watching me from behind the stranger’s face. My phone buzzed once around 3 AM. I didn’t look. I couldn’t.

But I should have.

When morning came, my phone was already in my hand. A new photo was open.

It wasn’t me. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t the eyes.

It was my house. From the outside.

Someone had taken the picture from across the street.

The sky in the photo was still dark, the streetlights buzzing dimly. My bedroom window was lit — but I hadn’t turned on the light.

And I wasn’t in it.

He was.

Standing in my room, staring out at whoever took the picture.

My phone buzzed again. A message.

“Don’t come home.”

I looked outside. The street was empty. My house looked normal. Silent. Waiting.

Then the porch light flicked on.

And my bedroom light did too.

He’s still in there.

But he’s not watching from the window anymore.

He’s watching from the doorway.

Waiting for me.


3 3

Ending soon...👌🏿👌🏿
3 3