I See You

I never thought my phone could betray me. Not like this.

It started on a Tuesday, which I know sounds random, but Tuesdays are the worst. I was scrolling through my group chat, nothing special, just memes and people complaining about work. Then I noticed a notification from an app I didn’t remember downloading. It just said, “I see you.”

I laughed. Classic horror movie moment, right? Except it wasn’t funny. My fingers froze over my phone screen. My roommates were asleep, the apartment too quiet, and suddenly I felt like someone was behind me. I spun around. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the fridge.

The message kept popping up, over and over, every five minutes. “I see you.” No sender, no app icon, just the words. I tried deleting it. Restarting my phone. Factory reset. Nothing worked. The texts weren’t coming from the phone. They were coming from… somewhere else.

Then the app started showing photos. Photos of me. In my room. On my bed. Every single night since Monday. I didn’t remember anyone being there. My heart pounded so loud I thought it would wake the dead. I checked every camera, every lock, every closet. Nothing.

I tried showing my friends. They laughed and said I probably downloaded some sketchy tracking app. I tried to explain there was no way it was that simple. The pictures… they were live. I could see myself move in them before I even did. Like the app predicted me.

Wednesday night, I didn’t sleep. I just sat with my phone, fingers trembling, staring at the screen. That’s when it sent a new message: “Don’t look behind you.”

I couldn’t resist. I turned.

There was nothing.

But when I looked back at my phone, the image was there. A shadow. Standing at the doorway. Not moving, just staring. And somehow, it felt like it was… smiling.

Thursday, I couldn’t even leave my room. Every door I tried to open was locked from the outside. My roommates didn’t answer their phones. The app kept updating, sending me notes, photos, little drawings, things that weren’t there before. A handprint on the wall behind me, a chair tilted, footprints in the hallway. Things I knew didn’t exist until I saw them on my screen.

I tried to turn off my phone. Nothing. Tried to smash it. The screen lit back up the moment I hit it. And that’s when I realized it wasn’t about the phone. It was about me.

It followed me everywhere, inside every reflection, every dark corner, even in the sunlight. And it wasn’t just watching anymore. It wanted me to notice it. To acknowledge it. To react.

Friday morning, I woke up to a text that froze my blood. “You can see me now.”

I lived alone.

I didn’t leave my room that day. The light flickered. My shadows stretched. The app sent me a video. I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. There I was… but I wasn’t. Something was sitting on my bed, wearing my hoodie, staring at the camera, grinning. I screamed. The video stopped.

Now it’s Saturday. I’m typing this on my laptop because my phone refuses to work. I hear it behind me every time I close my eyes, waiting, patient, watching. Waiting for me to slip. Waiting for me to blink.

I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know why it chose me. All I know is… it’s real. And I don’t think I’m alone anymore.

So I ask you, reader. If your reflection started moving before you did, and it smiled when you weren’t smiling, would you run… or would you stay and stare back?