I first saw it when I was brushing my teeth.
It was in the mirror.
But not in the reflection—
behind it.
Watching me blink.
I told my mom. She took my temperature.
I told my brother. He told me to shut up.
I wanted to believe he was right.
Told myself it was my imagination—
the kind that turns shadows into monsters.
But when the scratching begins, it's hard to pretend.
I've been hearing things since I was twelve—noises that crawl beneath my skin and twist up my mind.
Not typical creaks and groans a house makes at night. No. These sounds are. different.
Whispers dragged through the walls, screeching like fingernails over dry bone, voices that don't belong to me.
I told my mom about them once. She smiled like I was just thinking too hard—like it was all in my mind.
My friends? They simply laugh and say I'm crazy.
But I know what I hear.
I wish I could pretend it's nothing. I wish I could sleep at night without feeling like I'm being watched.
But it's getting worse. The sound is louder each day, closer—like it's reaching for me.
Hi. I'm Simon.
And yeah. I'm somewhat paranoid.
I first saw it when I was brushing my teeth.
It was in the mirror.
But not in the reflection—
behind it.
Watching me blink.
I told my mom. She took my temperature.
I told my brother. He told me to shut up.
I wanted to believe he was right.
Told myself it was my imagination—
the kind that turns shadows into monsters.
But when the scratching begins, it's hard to pretend.
I've been hearing things since I was twelve—noises that crawl beneath my skin and twist up my mind.
Not typical creaks and groans a house makes at night. No. These sounds are. different.
Voices were coming through the walls, screeching like fingernails over dry bone, voices that don't belong to me.
I told my mom about them once. She smiled like I was just thinking too hard—like it was all in my mind.
My friends? They simply laugh and say I'm crazy.
But I know what I hear.
I wish I could pretend it's nothing. I wish I could sleep at night without feeling like I'm being watched.
But it's getting worse. The sound is louder each day, closer—like it's reaching for me.
Hi. I'm Simon.
And yeah. I'm a little paranoid.
The Next Day:
Simon sat alone in his room, trying to drown out the memories of last night by playing video games.
Just as he was finally starting to get into the moment he heard something—breathing.
His eyes widened, and sweat began pouring down his face. He looked behind him—just an endless hall of darkness.
A rush of adrenaline hit him making his chest tighten and hands tremble.
Tears started to form and spill from his eyes. Then his mom walked in.
"Hey—holy shit! Are you okay?" she said, running over to Simon.