You were just reading.
That's all.
A collection of strange stories.
Weird, dark, kind of brilliant.
You liked the atmosphere — that echoing feeling like something was off, but beautifully off.
The stories pulled you in.
The countdown.
The sleepwalker.
The ink.
The mirror.
The room.
The call.
And then came this one.
This story.
The one you're reading now.
It started with a name.
Yours.
Not directly.
Not at first.
Just a description that sounded too familiar.
A detail you forgot you ever posted.
A phrase you said once, years ago — now on the page in front of you.
Then something deeper:
A sentence you were thinking, right now, as you read this…
"Wait… is this about me?"
Your screen flickers for half a second.
You scroll up.
Back.
Down again.
It's still here.
No one else around.
No tricks.
No sleight of hand.
But then the story starts mentioning things you haven't read yet.
Thoughts you haven't had yet.
Rooms you haven't entered yet.
But you will.
You look around your room.
Everything feels normal.
But not quite.
Like the walls are breathing.
Like the air is holding its breath.
Like something is watching you watch.
And just for a second… you see it:
A new tab open on your browser.
You didn't open it.
It's titled:
"Chapter Eight – [Your Name]"
Do you click?
You already did.
This is the story.
This is the chapter.
You were never the reader.
You were always next.