The first thing I did when the stream ended was slam my laptop shut like it had just insulted my mother.
The room felt different now.
Not haunted—not yet—but heavy, like the air had thickened into syrup. And every shadow in the corners of my apartment suddenly felt more like… residents than absences.
I leaned back, rubbing my eyes. "It was a glitch," I told myself. "All cameras glitch. Happens all the time. Classic case of—uh—digital pareidolia. Fancy word for the brain seeing faces in toast."
Nyx yawned, unimpressed.
Seraphine, still at the window, didn't move. "That wasn't a glitch."
"Okay, yes, cool, thanks for confirming my worst fear." I slapped my desk. "Any chance you're going to elaborate instead of doing the whole cryptic witch routine?"
She finally turned, golden eyes reflecting faint light. "It watched you."
"Excuse me, watched me? You mean… like one of my subscribers?"
Her silence said: worse.
---
Chat Replay, post-stream
[ReplayViewers]
slowmo_nerd: slowed to 0.25x, bro that was DEFINITELY eyes 👀
horrorclipz: imma clip this for TikTok, you're welcome
lensdoctor: ngl your camera's toast, but also… what the hell crawled in your room??
Anonymous: don't stare too long. It stares back.
---
I tried to laugh it off. "Alright. So, hypothetical. Let's say some… spooky squatter is hiding in my apartment. What's the witch-approved plan of action?"
"Burn it."
"…Right. Landlord would love that."
Seraphine's expression didn't change. Which meant she wasn't joking.
I swallowed. "Okay. But before we start summoning Homeowner's Association demons, can we at least rule out, you know, camera artifacting? My lens is cracked worse than my bank account. It could've just been a refraction—"
Her stare cut me off. "It wasn't."
And that was that.
---
The rest of the night stretched out long.
I made coffee, because of course I did—black, bitter, burnt. Seraphine didn't drink hers. Nyx curled into a circle on my chair like she owned it. And me? I opened my laptop again, because denial is a journalist's best friend.
Frame by frame, I went over the footage.
At first, nothing but static distortions. Then, at the mark chat had screamed about, it appeared.
For one, two frames at most.
A figure.
Tall. Slender. Wrong.
Eyes glowing faintly, like the embers of a dying fire.
And worse—no reflection on the glass behind it.
Just me. Seraphine. Nyx. And the figure.
---
(Private Notes)
Can't be editing. I didn't touch this footage.
Glitch? Unlikely—crack in lens doesn't create symmetrical eye-light.
Need second opinion. Preferably not Seraphine, she'll just say "burn it" again.
Maybe ask trench coat guy? If he's real. If I didn't hallucinate him.
---
By dawn, my eyes were burning.
I shoved my chair back, stood, and immediately stubbed my toe on a stack of unpaid bills.
"GHHHHHH—!!"
Seraphine didn't even flinch. She had fallen asleep on the windowsill, back against the frame, like a statue that had decided to rest.
I envied that.
Me? I dragged myself to bed, where the sheets still smelled faintly of coffee grounds and ash. And right before sleep pulled me under, I had the strange, unshakable feeling that someone was already lying there beside me.
---
Morning.
Sunlight slipped past the blinds, making my cracked camera lens gleam on the desk.
I filmed my usual morning vlog, because habits are survival.
"Morning, chat. Lens still busted. Wallet still busted. Brain definitely busted. But hey—at least breakfast is solid. Today we've got…" I lifted the bowl. "…cereal. With water. Because milk costs money."
[Replay Comments]
cryinginsoup: WATER CEREAL NOOO 😭
5dollardonator: get this man some milk 🥛
Anonymous: milk won't help.
I put the bowl down. "Alright, who keeps leaving cryptic fortune-cookie comments in my chat?"
Seraphine, half-awake, sipped tea she didn't pay for. "They're not fortune cookies. They're warnings."
Great. Exactly what I needed with my water cereal.
---
Later, I tried calling the insurance company about the café damages—don't ask why, it was a bad idea. The representative asked if we had any "proof of supernatural interference."
I almost emailed them the clip. Almost.
But something about those glowing eyes stopped me.
Like sending it would've… invited something.
---
By midday, I decided denial wasn't working. So, naturally, I went out looking for answers.
Seraphine tagged along, because apparently witches don't trust cameramen not to walk face-first into death. Nyx trotted after us, tail high.
We visited the café again. Ash still clung to the walls, windows boarded up. The owner waved a broom at us from inside like we were pigeons.
Next, we checked the alley where trench coat man had vanished. Empty. Not even footprints.
Finally, we hit the library.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Wow, library research montage!"
But let me tell you, libraries smell like dust, paper, and disappointment when you're looking for monsters that photobomb your livestream.
Seraphine, of course, found something instantly.
She pulled a tome the size of my torso off a shelf, flipped three pages, and tapped a woodcut illustration.
The figure looked exactly like my footage.
Eyes glowing. Shadow form. Always beside someone, never in front.
Beneath the drawing, faded ink spelled a name I couldn't pronounce.
Seraphine whispered it anyway.
"The Other."
---
The entry was short, but chilling:
The Other is not seen directly. It appears in reflections, in recordings, in the edge of sight. Where one stands, the Other follows. Where one breathes, the Other waits. To know it is to feed it. To name it is to bind yourself.
I slammed the book shut. "Okay, nope. Done. Out. Let's pretend we never read that."
Seraphine only frowned deeper.
---
(In-Universe Notes)
[My journal, scribbled hastily]
Other = parasite? Doppelgänger?
Why only show up on MY camera?
Did it follow me, or did it choose me?
Should I… stop filming? (lmao yeah right)
If viewers see it too… does that mean it's spreading?
---
The day dragged on, heavy with questions.
But the real punch came at night.
Back in my apartment, I set the cracked camera down, swore I wouldn't touch it again.
And then—
The red recording light blinked on.
By itself.
Through the lens, I saw the room exactly as it was.
Except… there I was, sitting at the desk. Not moving. Staring at the camera.
While the real me stood across the room, shaking.
---
"Seraphine," I croaked.
She rushed over, looked into the lens, and froze.
On the screen, she wasn't there.
Just me.
And behind the on-screen me—
The glowing eyes.
Closer this time.
Watching.