As I drove aimlessly through the quiet streets, the sun slowly rising, the questions in my mind only grew louder. I kept checking my rearview mirror, half-expecting to see something—or someone—following me. But there was nothing. The roads were empty, and the sky was slowly lightening, giving the morning an eerie calm. I didn't know where I was going; I just knew I couldn't stop.
The thought of going to the police crossed my mind, but what could I even tell them? "Hi, someone broke into my apartment, took a photo of me, and... didn't show up in the mirror?" It sounded insane, even to me. I needed more information. I needed proof.
Suddenly, my car came to a stop at a red light, and a thought hit me—I had a laptop. The cloud! All my photos were synced to an online account. I didn't need to go back to the apartment to access the image. I could look at it from here, from safety. I pulled into the parking lot of a nearby diner, my hands still shaking as I parked. I quickly grabbed my laptop from the backseat, opened it, and connected to the diner's Wi-Fi.
With trembling fingers, I logged into my account and accessed my photo gallery. There it was—the same photo of me sleeping. I clicked on it, forcing myself to look closely, even though every part of me wanted to shut the laptop and run.
The details were as clear as they were terrifying: my form sprawled across the bed, the sheets slightly wrinkled, the soft light from the moon casting shadows over the room. But then, I noticed something I hadn't before.
There was movement in the photo.
My breath caught in my throat. I zoomed in, my eyes straining to make sense of what I was seeing. At the very edge of the image, near the corner of the room, a blur—a shadow—was shifting. The more I stared, the more I realized it wasn't just a shadow. It was a figure. Human, but not quite. It was faint, like a smudge on the lens, but it was definitely there.
I felt my stomach drop. The figure was leaning forward, watching me, but its features were indistinct, its form barely visible. And yet, I could sense it. Whoever—or whatever—it was, it was there.
Suddenly, the photo glitched. For a brief moment, the entire screen went black before returning to the gallery. I clicked on the photo again, but this time, it refused to open.
A new notification popped up.
My heart raced as I saw the words: "New photo added to your gallery."
With shaky hands, I clicked on it.
The image that appeared was different. It wasn't of me sleeping. It was of the diner parking lot—where I was sitting right now. The timestamp was from just a few minutes ago.
And I wasn't alone in the photo.
There was a figure standing in the shadows, barely visible, but unmistakably there.
I slammed the laptop shut and looked around. The parking lot was empty. Or at least, it seemed empty.
But I knew, deep down, that something was out there. Watching me.
