It was a little past midnight when the knock came—sharp, frantic, desperate.
“Open the door! Hurry up! A strange person is stalking me!” cried the voice from outside.
I froze. It was my roommate, Alex. Or... at least, it sounded like Alex.
Still half-asleep, I stumbled toward the door, but just as my hand brushed the doorknob, my phone buzzed. I glanced down.
Alex (Roomie): Calling...
Confused, I answered. “Dude, I was just about to—”
“Don’t open the door!” Alex’s voice hissed on the line. “It’s not me. I’m still at the store. Someone’s pretending to be me. I don’t know how, but—don’t open that door!”
My blood turned to ice.
Outside, the knocking turned violent. “OPEN UP!” the voice screamed. “I can SEE you through the peephole!”
I backed away.
The voice outside started laughing. It was low, guttural, and wrong. A mockery of Alex’s usual tone. “He told you not to open the door, didn’t he?” it sneered. “Smart boy. But how long can you stay locked in there?”
I didn’t respond. I just slowly, silently slid the deadbolt into place—even though the door was already locked.
Then the voice stopped.
I waited in tense silence, barely breathing. Minutes crawled by. I checked the peephole. Nothing. Empty hallway.
I texted Alex: “Come home. Quietly.”
Three dots. Then nothing.
Another knock. Softer this time.
I jumped.
Then, a whisper through the door: “You can’t keep him out. He’s already inside.”
The call with Alex disconnected.
Behind me, I heard my bedroom door creak open..
I spun around, heart pounding, every instinct screaming run, but my feet wouldn’t move. The hallway was dark, too dark. My bedroom door stood slightly ajar, swaying just enough to creak again.
“Alex...?” I whispered, hoping, praying.
No answer. Just the sound of my own breathing—and something else. A faint shuffling. Like bare feet on carpet.
I grabbed the closest thing I could find—a metal floor lamp—and crept toward the door. My hands were slick with sweat. I nudged the door wider.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
Except… my closet door was now open. Wide open.
And I never leave it open.
Before I could react, my phone buzzed again. A text from Alex.
“I’m outside. Cops are on the way. Whatever happens, DO NOT let it see you.”
Let it see me?
Suddenly, I felt it. A presence behind me. The air turned icy. I slowly turned, just my head.
Standing in the hallway was... me.
Not Alex. Not some masked figure. Me. Same hoodie. Same messy hair. Same scar on the chin from skateboarding in seventh grade.
It smiled—but the smile didn’t reach its eyes.
“Why are you afraid?” it asked, in my voice. “You already let me in. When you hesitated. When you doubted. That’s all it takes.”
I backed up, heart threatening to burst from my chest. I didn’t blink. I didn’t dare.
Then—I remembered Alex’s message.
Don’t let it see you.
Not look at you. See you.
I sprinted into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and flipped off the lights. I crouched in the tub, heart racing, and closed my eyes tight.
It followed.
I heard it breathing just outside.
Then... silence.
A knock. Gentle. On the bathroom door.
“Hey,” came my real roommate’s voice. “It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe now.”
I didn’t move.
“Open up,” the voice said again—this time, just a little too smoothly. “It’s really me this time. Promise.”
I stayed still, trembling in the dark.
Eventually, the voice faded. The real Alex arrived. The police swept the place. Found nothing.
But I knew the truth.
It never left.
And every now and then, when the lights flicker, or I catch my reflection in a dark screen...
It still watches.
Waiting.
For the next time I hesitate.
