Her

I never thought much about the girl at first. She was just someone I saw in passing—on the street, in a coffee shop, or at the park. She always seemed to be there, but I never paid her much attention. Just another stranger.

Before all of this started, my life was ordinary. I worked at an office downtown, a predictable routine that I didn’t mind. My mornings were the same—early commutes, black coffee, and half-hearted small talk with coworkers. I liked the comfort of my routines, the way everything was orderly and familiar.

Then I saw her.

It had been one of those long, tiring days, the kind that drains every bit of energy from your body. I was walking home from work, head down, already thinking about the leftover pizza waiting for me at home. I barely noticed the girl standing across the street, but something made me pause.

She stood under a streetlamp, her face in shadow, but I could feel her eyes on me. There was something about the way she stood, completely still, as though she was waiting for something—waiting for me. My steps faltered, and I looked up, catching her gaze for just a moment. She didn’t smile. She didn’t move. She just stared.

A cold, hollow feeling spread through my chest, and I couldn’t explain why. It was just a girl, standing across the street. So why did it feel like she was watching me? Waiting for me to do something?

I quickened my pace, shaking off the unease that lingered as I turned the corner. By the time I got home, I had almost forgotten about the encounter. It was nothing. A coincidence. But deep down, the feeling remained—an unsettled whisper that told me something was wrong.

A few days later, I saw her again.

It was in the grocery store this time, just after work. I was wandering the aisles, half-distracted, when I felt it—that same prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I looked up, and there she was.

She stood a few aisles over, half-hidden behind the shelves, watching me. Her eyes, dark and unblinking, were fixed on mine. She didn’t move. She just stood there, staring.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. My hand hovered over a can of soup, frozen in mid-air. For a moment, I thought she would step toward me, but she didn’t. She remained perfectly still, her gaze heavy and cold.

I lowered my hand and stepped away from the aisle, my pulse quickening. It felt like a confrontation was looming, but I didn’t want to confront her. I didn’t want to ask why she was there. Instead, I turned and hurried out of the store without buying anything.

The sensation of her eyes followed me all the way home.

After that, I started seeing her everywhere.

At first, I tried to dismiss it. A girl with the same hair, the same build—it was just a coincidence, right? But every time I saw her, that hollow feeling in my chest grew heavier, as if something inside me knew she wasn’t just a stranger.

I spotted her again at the café, standing outside as I sipped my coffee. Her reflection appeared in the window, just behind me, as if she was waiting to be let in. I froze, watching her through the glass, but when I turned to look, she was gone.

Later, I saw her at a crosswalk. She stood on the other side of the street, facing me, her head tilted slightly, as if she was mimicking my posture. My heart raced, but I refused to look directly at her, keeping my eyes straight ahead as I hurried past.

It didn’t matter where I went. She always found me.

The dreams began not long after.

Every night, I’d wake up drenched in sweat, the image of her face burned into my mind. She was always standing at the foot of my bed, just watching me. Her eyes were empty, her face expressionless. No matter how much I screamed or moved in the dream, she never responded. She just stood there, waiting.

As the nights dragged on, sleep became impossible. I’d lay awake for hours, my eyes scanning the room, expecting to see her standing in the corner. The more exhausted I became, the more real she felt—like a presence hovering just out of sight.

One night, I thought I saw her move. In the dim light of the room, her figure seemed to shift, her silhouette bending unnaturally. I blinked, but she was still there. Waiting.

I stopped leaving my apartment.

I couldn’t explain it to anyone. My friends called, asking why I wasn’t showing up for work, why I wasn’t answering their texts. How could I explain what was happening? How could I tell them that I felt like I was being followed by someone who wasn’t real?

Every time I tried to go out, I’d see her. In the lobby, in the hallway, even in the reflection of my bathroom mirror. She was always there, just watching. Her presence was suffocating, pressing down on me, making it impossible to breathe.

The night it all changed, I had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close my eyes. The room was silent, but the air felt heavy, like something was waiting to break the quiet.

And then, I saw her.

She was standing in the corner of my room, her figure barely visible in the dark. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but no. I was awake. She was real.

I slowly sat up, my breath catching in my throat. The girl didn’t move. She just stood there, her eyes locked on mine. There was something wrong about the way she looked—like she was me, but distorted. Her hair fell the same way mine did, her skin was the same pale shade, but there was something off about her. Her features were too sharp, her movements too precise.

As I stared at her, I realized something horrifying. I couldn’t move.

It was as if my body was no longer mine. I was frozen, trapped in place, while she moved toward me. Slowly, she raised her hand, mirroring the gesture I had made earlier that day in the grocery store. But it wasn’t me moving. It was her. She was controlling me.

I watched in horror as she tested my movements, lifting my arm, tilting my head, all while I remained powerless to stop her.

And then, she smiled.

It was the first time I had seen her smile, and it was wrong. A cold, empty grin that stretched too far across her face, as if she was enjoying the control she had over me.

I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to break free, but I couldn’t. I could only watch as her smile grew wider and wider, filling the room with its coldness.

Then everything went dark.