You were just another person wasting nights on YouTube, watching random videos until your eyes burned. It was around 2:30 AM when the recommendation feed spat out something you had never seen before.

It was just called dolphinman.avi.

The thumbnail was dark—looked like some guy in a rubber mask. You thought it was some old meme, maybe even a forgotten skit. Curiosity got you, so you clicked.

The video was silent at first. Just a man, shirtless, skin shining like he was wet, standing in the corner of an empty room. His head was long, rubbery, shaped like a dolphin’s, but the eyes… they weren’t cartoonish. They were black and glassy. Real.

After a few seconds of nothing, the figure tilted its head, then leaned closer toward the camera. And then—through the static—I heard it.

"Hello... This is a warning. Please go check outside your home. Please go check outside your home. This is not a drill. Ple-"

You slammed the laptop shut, but the words didn’t stop in your mind. Against every sane thought, you opened your front door. And there it was: A box. Old cardboard, water-stained, with your name written on it in smeared ink. No return address—just one word, scrawled on the side: “come.”

Inside was a single folded slip of paper. Written in shaky handwriting was an address. Not a house, not a store. An abandoned sewer system on the far edge of town.

You should have thrown it away. You should have. But that night, your hands wouldn’t let go of that paper. You biked there, heart thumping with every turn of the wheels, until you reached the rusted gates of the old sewer entrance.

The air smelled damp, metallic. Each step echoed like you weren’t alone. Deeper inside, the clicking started. At first, faint… like water dripping. Then sharper. Louder. Rhythmic.

Click. Click. Click.

And then you saw him.

Standing ankle-deep in black water, head tilted toward me. The Dolphin Man. His smile stretched in a way no mask ever could.

He didn’t move, not at first. Just stared you.