Benny didn't move.
The phone vibrated again.
Not loudly. Not urgently.
Just enough to make sure he noticed.
It lay on the bedside table, screen glowing softly in the dark. The black icon sat there like it had always belonged—perfectly centered, perfectly still.
No name.
Just the shape.
Benny's throat felt dry.
"This isn't happening," he whispered.
The words sounded fake the moment they left his mouth.
He reached out and picked up the phone, holding it at arm's length, as if distance alone could protect him.
The icon pulsed once.
Then the screen changed.
The app opened on its own.
A camera interface filled the display—clean, minimal, wrong. The lens view showed Benny's room exactly as it was: bed, curtains, half-open door, shadows pooled in the corners.
No filters.
No buttons.
Except one.
At the bottom of the screen, faint and greyed out, a single line of text appeared.
SPECTRA
Camera active.
Benny's fingers trembled.
"I didn't open you," he said.
The phone didn't respond.
The room felt… quieter.
Not silent—just stripped. Like the background noise of the world had been turned down a notch.
He noticed the shadows first.
They weren't moving.
Not exactly.
They were too still, like they were waiting.
Benny swallowed and glanced at the door.
The hallway light was still on.
Good.
He looked back at the screen.
The camera view flickered.
For a split second, something on the display didn't match the room.
Then it corrected itself.
Benny's grip tightened.
"Nope," he muttered. "No. I'm done."
He tried to close the app.
Nothing happened.
He swiped up.
Nothing.
He pressed the home button.
The phone vibrated—harder this time.
The screen zoomed in slightly, the camera adjusting focus on its own.
The text changed.
Do not look away.
Benny froze.
His breath came shallow.
"Listen," he said, not knowing who he was talking to. "I don't want this. Just turn off."
The room lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then they went out completely.
Benny gasped.
The only light now came from the phone.
The camera feed brightened automatically, night mode kicking in. The screen showed the room in sharp, unnatural clarity.
Every detail visible.
Every shadow deeper.
Then the sound came.
A voice.
Not loud.
Not echoing.
Close.
"Is someone there?"
Benny's blood ran cold.
The voice didn't come from the phone's speaker.
It came from the room.
He spun around, heart hammering, scanning the darkness behind him.
"Who's there?" he shouted.
His voice sounded swallowed by the room.
On the screen, the camera view shook.
The text at the bottom flickered.
Do not look away.
"I'm right here," Benny said quickly, forcing himself to stare at the phone. "I'm not looking away."
The shadows on the screen shifted.
Something moved near the corner of the room.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Deliberate.
Benny's pulse roared in his ears.
"Good," the voice said. "You can hear me."
Benny shook his head. "No. No, I can't. You're not real."
A pause.
Then the voice laughed softly.
"There are many of us," it said. "Most don't get heard."
The camera zoomed again—slightly, almost curious.
Benny's fingers hovered over the power button.
He just needed to turn it off.
That was all.
The phone buzzed sharply the moment his finger touched the button.
The text glitched.
ACCESS DENIED
"What do you want?" Benny demanded.
The voice hesitated.
"Not you," it said. "Not yet."
Benny's stomach dropped.
"Then why are you here?"
Another pause.
"Because you opened the door."
The shadows on the screen stretched.
Something tall shifted just out of frame.
Benny's breathing grew uneven.
"I didn't mean to," he said. "I didn't know."
"No one does," the voice replied. "That's why it works."
Benny's thumb pressed harder against the power button.
Nothing.
The phone grew warm in his hand.
Too warm.
"Please," he whispered. "Just stop."
The camera view began to blur at the edges.
The text changed again.
STABILITY: LOW
The voice sounded closer now.
"Careful," it said. "If you break the frame—"
Benny tried something else.
He reached for the settings icon, dragging his finger toward it.
The screen stuttered.
The camera feed glitched violently.
The shadows lunged.
Benny flinched.
And for just a fraction of a second—
He looked away.
Not out of fear.
Out of instinct.
His eyes flicked to the power button again.
That was all it took.
The phone screamed,
Not a sound—a feedback shriek, sharp and piercing, like something tearing.
The screen went black.
The room lights snapped back on.
Benny gasped and dropped the phone onto the bed, scrambling backward until he hit the wall.
His chest burned.
The phone lay still.
Silent.
Dark.
He waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, shaking, he reached out and picked it up.
The screen lit up.
Normal lock screen.
Normal wallpaper.
No black icon.
No camera app.
No SPECTRA.
Benny laughed weakly, pressing the phone to his chest.
"It's gone," he whispered. "It's gone."
His laughter faded.
Because the reflection on the screen didn't move when he did.
And behind his reflection—
Something blinked.