My Best Friend Went Missing 10 Years Ago—Then He Walked Into My House Like Nothing Happened

It all began with a mysterious disappearance.
No trace. No note. Not even a body.
Just mystery.

Ten years later, he’s back—
As if nothing happened.
Same voice. Same face. Same gestures.
But I can’t shake the constant thought:
Something is off.


---

It was a slightly cloudy night when a knock on the door jolted me upright.
My heart skipped.
Who could that be?
The clock read 9:47 p.m.
Too late for casual visitors.

Still in a haze, I crept to the door and peeped through the hole.

I froze.

I sucked in a sharp breath, eyes straining to make sense of the face outside.

Am I seeing this right?
That can’t be…

So many questions. Not a single answer.
My hand moved before my mind could catch up.
I turned the doorknob.

And there he was.

Standing under the porch light like no time had passed.

Jack.


---

He brushed past me casually, like he'd been gone ten minutes, not ten years.

My body tensed as he moved inside.
No coat. No shoes wet from rain. No explanation.
Just that same calm swagger, the familiar smirk, jet-black hair falling over his eyes.
His clothes looked too clean. Pressed. Like he’d stepped out of a department store display.

“Hi, Em,” he said.
Same rasp in his voice. Smooth, but with that tiny scratch at the edge.
But something… something was missing. Or maybe added.

“Hi…” I barely managed, my voice cracking.
Someone wake me up. Please.
Over and over, I chanted it in my head.

He sniffed the air and smiled.
“What’s for dinner?”
He turned before I could answer. “Cream pie? Could never miss that smell—not in this life.”

Not in this life?


---

I stood there, frozen. Watching him move like he belonged.

He admired the paintings, the wallpaper, then stopped at a portrait on the wall.
“You still have this?”

I blinked.

No. No, that hasn’t been there in years. I gave it away. I remember.

But there it was. Hanging crookedly. I couldn’t even remember seeing it go up.

Something inside me started to itch.

He asked about school. About people. But his phrasing was… off.
Names he shouldn’t forget. Places he shouldn't mix up.
He asked if the old football coach was “still at the academy.”
Jack never called it an academy.


---

Then I saw a chance.

“How’s Pete been?” I asked, voice even.

He grinned. “Been great. Still out finding trouble, you know him.”

I didn’t even breathe.

Jack never had a brother. No Pete. No sister. No cousins close enough to call family.

I didn’t correct him. I didn’t say a word.

Because suddenly I wasn’t sure what I was talking to.


---

As if summoned by my dread, the oven dinged.

The pie was done.

Before I could move, he was already there.
He opened the oven like he knew where it was.
Pulled the drawer. Took out a knife.

My breath caught in my throat. My feet moved back instinctively.

He saw me flinch.

“Relax,” he chuckled, the sound hollow. “It’s just for the pie.”

I watched his hand.

He sliced with his left.

Jack was right-handed.
I remember. He used to make jokes about it—how “lefties are freaks.”
His words. Not mine.

I backed away slowly.

And then I saw it.
In the hallway mirror—he cast no reflection.
None. Just the hallway behind him, undisturbed.


---

I needed answers. I needed to be sure.

I slipped out of the room, my heart hammering.
I found the old photo album hidden on the shelf—the one with our memories.
I flipped through it, my hands trembling.
There was a picture of Jack and me, taken just a week before his disappearance. The same smile. The same familiar eyes. But as I flipped the pages, one particular photo caught my attention.

A news clipping, yellowing at the edges:
“Jack Ellis, presumed dead after vanishing under mysterious circumstances. Police find no trace of the teen in a river search.”

I felt the room spin.

This can’t be real. He can’t be here. He’s dead!


---

Just as the thought hit me, the lights flickered above. Once. Twice.

I rushed back to the living room.

Jack—or whatever this thing was—hadn't moved from the kitchen. But something was wrong.
His face had shifted. Not physically but his features seemed slightly ......stretched. The lines of his face were more sharp, and his eyes glinted unnaturally.

The air grew colder, making me shiver. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but when I checked it, the screen was glitching. Words scrambled across the screen like a message was trying to form, but then it disappeared.

I glanced back at him. His head tilted, almost like he was listening for something… or watching me.

And then I noticed it.
The faintest hum—almost like a low frequency I couldn’t hear, but could feel in my bones.

He turned slowly toward me, eyes narrowing.
“You look uncomfortable, Em. Is something wrong?”

His lips didn’t quite match the words. His smile stretched too wide, corners pulling unnaturally, almost like they wanted to rip.


---

I stepped back, panic rising.

“Who are you?” I whispered, voice shaking.
“You aren’t Jack. You’re not him.”

His smile faltered. Just for a second.

And then—without warning—he snapped.

“Why don’t you remember, Em? It’s me. I’ve always been here.” His voice dropped lower, darker. “You’ve been waiting for me.”


---

Suddenly, everything clicked.
The missing pieces. The strange atmosphere. The cold, the glitching, the way he could slip between dimensions, appearing and disappearing as though he were never really here.

This was no reunion.
This was a possession.


---

Whatever this thing was,
It had come back for me.



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