Chilling tales for the restless night

Behind the screen

Samantha had been single for what felt like ages. With most of her friends in relationships or already married, the loneliness was starting to get to her. So, one Saturday night, feeling bored and tired of the same routine, she decided to take the plunge and download a dating app. It was easy enough—just a few taps, and her profile was up.

At first, she scrolled through the sea of faces with little interest, swiping left more times than she could count. The men all seemed the same—generic profiles with vague interests and uninspired photos. But just as she was about to give up, a particular profile caught her eye.

His name was Mark. Tall, dark hair, a strong jawline, and eyes that seemed to pierce through the screen. His profile was simple, no flashy bios or over-the-top descriptions. Just a line that read: *"Looking for someone genuine."* Samantha smiled. Finally, someone who seemed interesting. Without thinking twice, she sent a casual, "Hey."

To her surprise, the response came almost immediately.

"Hey there :) How's your night?"

And just like that, the conversation flowed easily. They exchanged pleasantries at first—how old they were, what they did for a living. Mark worked in tech, loved hiking and photography, and seemed genuinely interested in her hobbies. Samantha found herself smiling at the screen, excited by how effortless it all felt. It had been a while since she had connected with someone like this.

Hours passed, and they were still texting back and forth. The conversation deepened, shifting from surface-level topics to more personal things—favorite childhood memories, places they wanted to travel, dreams for the future.

As they talked, Samantha felt a growing curiosity about him. But something shifted when Mark asked, "When do I get to see you?"

She laughed softly, typing, *"We just met! Maybe in a few months if we keep talking."*

His reply came fast: *"Why not now?"*

Samantha's fingers hesitated over the keyboard. *"Haha, you're eager! But you don't even know where I live."*

She sent the message, feeling playful. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed with another notification.

It wasn't a text.

It was a photo.

Samantha's breath caught in her throat as she opened it. It was a picture of her window. The very window she was sitting beside right now.

Her heart skipped a beat.

*"I want to see you."*

The message came beneath the photo, chilling in its simplicity.

She froze, staring at the image. How did he know? Was it some kind of prank? She typed, her hands trembling, *"Who are you? How do you know where I live?"*

No reply. Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was another photo.

Her living room.

The lamp beside her couch, the blanket draped over the armrest—everything in the picture was exactly as it was in real life.

*"I want to see you."*

Samantha's heart raced. Her palms slick with sweat, she jumped up from her seat, locking her door and shutting every window she could find. She couldn't think clearly. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she deleted the app and rushed to call 911.

The phone rang, and she tried to steady her voice when the operator answered. "Please, I think someone's in my house. He's been sending me pictures of inside. I need help. I'm scared—"

The line crackled. Her voice echoed back at her, distorted. The connection was failing.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" she cried, but the call abruptly dropped.

Her phone buzzed again.

Samantha didn't want to look, but she couldn't stop herself. Another photo.

This time, it was the hallway outside her bedroom. The camera angle was low, as if someone were crouched there, staring at the door.

*"I want to see you."*

Her heart pounded in her chest, and tears welled in her eyes. She backed away from the door, pressing herself against the wall, trying to keep quiet. She wanted to scream, but her throat tightened with fear.

And then came the knock.

Three slow, deliberate knocks on the other side of her door.

"Hello?" a voice called, low and unnerving.

Samantha's breath hitched. She swallowed hard, trying to gather any ounce of courage she had left. "I-I called the police!" she stammered, her voice shaking. "They're on their way!"

Silence followed for a few agonizing moments.

Then the doorknob rattled softly. Her blood ran cold as she watched the knob turn, despite the fact that she had locked it. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing nothing but the dark hallway beyond.

The house felt impossibly still.

Samantha's legs trembled beneath her, but something inside her pushed her to move. She edged closer to the open door, her breath shallow and fast. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness almost swallowing it whole.

"Who's there?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

No answer. Just the oppressive, suffocating quiet.

She stepped forward, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. But as soon as she reached the doorway, something cold and unseen grabbed her wrist, yanking her violently into the darkness. She let out a strangled scream, but it was cut off abruptly. The door slammed shut behind her, and the house fell into an eerie, unnatural silence.

***

When the police arrived minutes later, they found the door unlocked. The house was eerily quiet, nothing out of place—except for Samantha's phone, lying on the floor in the living room, switched off. They searched the house, every room, every corner, but there was no sign of Samantha. She had vanished without a trace.

The only thing left was her last text conversation, and the chilling photos of her own home.

But even those couldn't explain the darkness that had swallowed her whole.