It started with a single DM. The message read: "I’m closer than you think." No username, just an odd profile picture of a blurred-out face. You didn’t respond. You thought it was a bot, a weird glitch in the matrix. But then the messages kept coming.

"You’re alone tonight." "I can hear you breathe."

Each time you checked, the account was gone. You’d search for it, only to find it vanished—no trace, no history. The only place it still existed was on your phone. At night, you’d wake up to new notifications. The same account, with the same chilling messages.

You blocked it, deleted your history, even logged out of your account for a few days. But it always came back. Sometimes it was an image—half of a photo, pixelated and dark. Sometimes, just a word. "Dead."

When you asked a friend to check it, they couldn’t see it. "Weird," hey said. "You must’ve imagined it."

But you didn’t imagine it. You know it’s real. And tonight? There’s a new message.

“You were never safe. I’m already inside.”