Chapter 2: The Second Recording
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
By sunrise I had watched that three-minute clip fourteen times. Each time I hoped I’d see something different — a shadow, a reflection, anything that proved it was fake. But the video never changed. There I was on the couch, smiling like a corpse that just learned a joke. And there I was in the doorway, frozen like a deer in headlights.
I deleted the app. I unplugged every camera in the house. I even covered the baby monitor with a towel and shoved it in a drawer. Then I called in sick to the hospital, something I’d never done in twelve years.
Around 10 a.m. my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer.
A text came through instead.
Unknown: You look tired, buddy. Rough night?
Attached was a photo — my living room, taken from the exact spot where the creature had been sitting. The timestamp said 9:47 a.m. I was upstairs in my bedroom at that exact moment.
I ran downstairs. The couch was empty. The photo angle was impossible unless someone had been standing right there.
Another text.
Unknown: Come on. Don’t be rude. I made coffee.
The kitchen light was on. I never turned it on.
I crept toward the doorway, phone gripped like a weapon. The smell of fresh coffee hit me — strong, black, exactly how I drink it. My favorite mug was sitting on the counter, steam rising. Next to it was a note written in my own handwriting:
Drink up. You’re going to need it today.
I knocked the mug into the sink. It shattered. Coffee splattered everywhere like blood.
That’s when I heard it — my own laugh coming from upstairs. Not through any speaker. Real. Clear. From inside my bedroom.
I sprinted up the stairs two at a time and threw the door open.
The room was empty. But my laptop was open on the bed. The screen showed the camera app I thought I’d deleted, now reinstalled. A new live feed was playing.
It was me, sitting at the foot of the bed, back turned to the real me standing in the doorway. Slowly, the figure on the screen turned its head 180 degrees — neck cracking loudly — until it faced the camera directly.
Its eyes were completely black.
“Hey,” it said in my voice, calm and friendly. “I’ve been wearing this face for years. You just never noticed before.”
It stood up and walked toward the camera until its face filled the entire screen.
“I’m not the one who’s new here.”
The feed cut to black.
May you like
Then my phone lit up with a notification from the “Echo” app I had deleted hours ago.
Last Seen: Right behind you.
