Speaker 1: Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. A strange sense of being watched,
not feeling like yourself eventually turns into a nightmare. My
name is Edwin and here's a scary story. It was
to eighteen am and I had probably seen everything there
was to see on Instagram and TikTok, so I opened
up the Facebook app and saw the same fifty eight
notifications still waiting for me. I had been a few
weeks a month now that I think about it, Getting
to sleep was much harder now. Plus the whole Milly
thing wasn't helping. I pushed her away, this time a
little too far, and she never came back. She took
her things while I was at work and texted me
saying that she wanted to go no contact, and I
just accepted it. Part of me wished for her to stay,
like wishing that I could love her again. Splitting up
in this case also split me in two. Two thirty am,
now lost in between those apps and staring at the
dim ceiling lit up by the headlights of a car
passing by, when I heard the doorbell ring. Curious but startled,
I rolled out of the couch and onto the carpet.
I had been sleeping there ever since Milly left, that
place felt smaller, less empty. The doorbell rang again. I
crawled closer to the couch. The window was right behind it,
and I stood up slowly to peek between the blinds
of that dark room. I was leaning over the couch,
making up characters in my mind, but I was never
expecting what I actually saw. There was an old man
out there in what looked like a UPS uniform, holding
a box with both of his hands. He didn't move,
didn't blink, just stood there with his eyes staring straight ahead,
completely motionless. I thought about going to the door, but
only for an instant before realizing that I shouldn't open
the door for any one this late. I didn't even
consider how absurd the idea of a delivery man being
out so late was, or how I hadn't ordered anything.
Call this part paranoia, I don't care, but it defined
what I had been feeling. Watched that old man was
somehow always watching me from inside the house in that
same manner. Sometimes I would end up in the kitchen
wondering what I was doing there or what I needed.
Felt like I wasn't myself. The reflections in the bathroom
mirror looked off. It was that of a stranger with
a look of disappointment in his face, looking at me
in the eyes. With those thoughts, I fell on the couch,
my head buried in the corner between the cushions, as
a figure that this man outside may have been a drunk,
a man just as confused as I was, who just
needed a few more hours of sleep. But as I there,
I heard a soft noise from the door. I jolted up,
went for the window, and I saw the man slowly
walking away, his arms completely still by his side. He
went to the street and got lost in the darkness.
There was no truck out there. I waited until morning
to check the package was still there. No return address,
no postage. But my name was printed clearly on a
white label, and it wasn't handwritten or smudged. It was clean, precise,
almost like it had been stamped there at the exact
moment I stepped outside to retrieve it. I picked it up,
turning it over in my hands. The box itself was
heavy for something so small. It was sealed shut, no tape,
no flaps, just a perfect solid package. For a moment
I considered throwing it away. Something about it mid my
stomach churn. But curiosity is a funny thing. It overrides
the gut, making you do things you wouldn't normally do.
So I carried it inside. Sitting at my kitchen table,
I hesitated before opening it. My fingers hovered over the edges, waiting.
I told myself it was fine, that it was just
a package. I peeled back the cardboard, revealing a small
black velvet pouch. I tipped it over and something dropped
onto the table with a soft clink. It was a
USB drive, no label, no markings, just a plain black
drive resting against the wood. Waiting. I almost tossed it.
Who even used USB drives anymore? But something about it
felt intentional, like it was meant to be found by
me in this exact moment. I hesitated, but eventually I
plugged it into my old laptop, the one I barely
used anymore. I figured, worst case it was a scam
or some kind of virus, and if my computer crashed,
I wouldn't miss it too much. The screen flickered, A
folder popped up, containing just one file, a video. My
hands felt plammy against the keyboard. My gut told me
to unploy the drive, to walk away and forget it ever.
Showed up on my doorstep, but of course I clicked
on it and it opened. It was security footage, grainy,
black and white. It was my single camera, the one
I had outside. It was pointing at my doorway. The
timestamp said last night, around one point fifteen am, an
hour before the delivery. At first, nothing happened. The screen
flickered slightly with static fuzzing at the edge, but then
there was movement. A figure appeared, stepping out from the
shadows at the edge of the frame. It was me
standing on the porch. I leaned forward, my fingers gripping
the edge of my desk. I tried to recall if
I had gone outside last night. Maybe I had stepped
out for fresh air. But top down I knew the truth.
I had not been outside. The figure on the screen
stood still for a few seconds, and then glanced left
and right, as if making sure no one was watching. Then,
with precise, deliberate movements, I reached into my jacket pocket
and pulled out a key. My breath hitched. I watched
as the other MEE inserted the key into the lock,
and it twisted and stepped inside the door, slowly closing
behind him. Green went black. A deep nauseating feeling settled
in my gut. I swallowed hard, trying to rationalize what
I had just seen. Maybe someone had doctored the image,
like it was a prank or a sick joke. I
rewound the video and played it again. This time, I
paid closer attention, and I looked for anything unnatural. But
there it was again, myself standing on the porch, unlocking
the door and disappearing inside. I reached for my phone
and pulled up my home security app, searching through the
previous night's footage. Nothing not a single recording between one
and three am, just a gap of static, as if
nothing had happened at all. Something had I looked back
at the USB, a small black shape resting next to
my laptop like a silent taunt. Someone wanted me to
see this, and I had a feeling that someone wasn't
done with me just yet. I replayed the footage, my
pulse hammering in my ears. The person on the screen
moved like me, acted like me, but something about him
was off. There was a hesitation in his steps, a
precision to his movements that didn't feel natural. It was
as if he was following a script. I paused a video.
At the moment he or I reached into the pocket
for the key, my breath caught in my throat. I
had no memory of going outside last night, let alone
unlocking my own door, But there I was on the screen,
turning the handle and stepping inside. I checked my locks again.
Dead bolts was still fastened, the chain latch was untouched.
I even tested the door, shaking the knob, but it
didn't budge. Still, the thought nagged at me. If I
never went out, how did that footage exist? I grabbed
my phone, swiping through my security app again. Then I
scrolled back to the timestamps from the video. There were
no recordings there. A cold sweat broke out across my back.
Someone had tampered with my security system, But who and
why leave me the footage. I turned back to the laptop,
staring at my frozen doppelganger on the screen. The more
I looked at him, the more I noticed tiny discrepancies.
The way his shoulders sat too stiff, how his fingers
curled around the doorknob just a fraction too tightly. It
was like someone was pretending to be me, but not
quite getting it right. I directed the video's progress bar forward.
The screen cut to black as soon as my double
entered the house, and that was it. No movement, no sound,
just a number upt end. I felt a presence, a
weight in the air around me. Just then my apartment
suddenly seemed too quiet. I shut the laptop and stood up,
running a hand over my face. My mind cycled through
rational explanations, but each one dissolved under the weight of
the truth staring back at me from that footage. I
wasn't alone, and whatever had come inside I was still there.
I searched the USB again, my fingers trembling over the keyboard.
The drive wasn't empty. There was another folder. I learned
about hidden files way back in the dial up days.
But there I found hundreds of video files. Each one
was security footage from different houses, different front doors. The
file names were just time stamps going back years. I
clicked on at random. The grainy, black and white video
showed another porch, this time belonging to a house I
didn't recognize. The angle was the same as before, a
single fixed camera watching the front door. The door was closed,
the porch was empty, and then after a minute someone
stepped into view, a man mid thirties wearing a hoodie
in jeans. He looked up and down the street and
then pulled a key from his pocket. He unlocked the
door and went inside. My stomach turned. I clicked another file,
a different house, a different person, this time a woman
in a long coat. She checked her surroundings, unlocked the door,
and then stepped inside. Every single video was the same,
different houses, different people, but always the same scenario. I
clicked into more files, each one making my skin crawl.
Some showed figures that strangely, their limbs slightly off rhythm
and their heads turning too sharply, as if their bodies
weren't used to moving the way that they should. One
video showed a man unlocking his door, stepping inside, and
just before shutting the door, his head snapped back unnaturally,
as if he had heard something behind him. The screen
cuts a black before I could see what happened. Next.
Another file, another home, and this time a woman was
in a business suit, but when she turned over the
camera before going inside, her face was blurred, and not
by poor video quality, it was intentionally obscured. A sickening
thought took root in my mind. Who was recording these
and why were they sent to me? And then I
found the last video in the folder. The timestamp was
from tomorrow. I hesitated, my throat dry and I clicked it.
The footage loaded, showing my house, my front door, a
long empty stretch of time, no movement, and then at
exactly two forty five a m. The door opened, just
darkness beyond the frame, and then something stepped out. It
was hard to make out at first, just a shifting
outline at the edges of the light, moving in slow,
deliberate motions. The shape didn't seem quite human. Its limbs
were too long, its posture was wrong. It hesitated at
the threshold as though adjusting to the air, stretching its
limbs like it was waking from a long sleep. And
then it took a step forward. I squinted at the screen,
barely breathing. The image flickered, The figure wavered in and
out of clarity, as though the camera itself wasn't sure
it should be recording it, And then the details clicked
into place. It was me. I clapped a hand over
my mouth to stop the gas from escaping the figure,
my double was standing in my doorway. Its movements were
too fluid, too calculated, as if it had practice being
me but hadn't quite mastered it. It tad twitched its mouth,
forming something that looked like a smile, but the expression
never fully took shape. And then it did something that
sent eyes through my veins. It turned and looked directly
into the camera, directly at me. I didn't move, I couldn't.
My pulse pounded in my ears. The double in the
video stepped forward and off the porch. My stomach was
to or was it going? And what was it doing?
The screen glitched again, distorting into black static, before flashing
back to the front door. It was wide open and
the figure was gone. I shot out of my chair,
my breath coming in ragged gasps. My gaze was darting
to my front door. It was still closed and still locked.
I worked back to the screen, my fingers trembling as
I rewound the footage. Had I really seen that? The
video resumed and the figure was no longer there. Instead,
the footage cut to something else, something worse. It was
the inside of my house. The camera angle had changed.
The view was now from within my living room, as
if someone had set up a camera just from outside.
Looking through the window, the furniture was all in place,
nothing looked disturbed except for one thing. A shadow stretched
across the floor, and it was not mine. The video
distorted again, and when it refocused, the shadow had moved closer,
closer to the camera, closer to me. I slammed the
laptop shut, my hands shaking controllably. Somewhere in my house
a floorboard creaked and I realized that I was not alone.
I grabbed my phone and stepped outside. I walked randomly
around the block for about half an hour. I went
back to the house to grab my car keys, and
then went to get some food. Doing anything to stay
out of the house for as long as possible. I
managed to stay out until about ten at night, roaming
around stores sitting in my car, but eventually it was
time to come back. The first thing I saw was
that USB drive by the laptop. I imagined the footage again,
but I decided to head to the couch and instead
try to get some sleep instead of messing with it
one more time. It was around two forty am when
I was woken up by the sound coming from the hallway.
I sat up, trying not to look into the darkness.
But then I saw it, a shape walking up to me.
The figure moved strangely, its limbs slightly off, like a
video with corrupted frames, as if reality itself was struggling
to render it correctly. It stood just beyond my front door,
rocking slightly on its heels, watching, but I knew what
I was looking at. It was me re lee. It
wasn't its face mimicked mind, but the expression was wrong,
a grin that didn't fit. The lips were too stretched,
the teeth were too visible. Its head was tilted slightly,
the movement unnatural, deliberate, like it was considering something. I
was trying to convince myself that this was a nightmare,
a hallucination brought on by stress, but my body refused
to move. My breath came in short, panicked bursts, and
then it twitched, a sharp, sudden jolt, like a puppet
whose strings had just been yanked. Its arms flexed, fingers
opening and closing, as if it was trying to get
comfortable in its own skin, my skin. I pushed my
chair back instinctively, my heart hammering. My laptop screen flickered
as the video continued to play, but I didn't need
to watch it anymore. I could see it happening in
real time. My phone buzzed duck against the table. The
sound made me jump, and my hands shook as I
reached for it, barely able to hold. It's steady when
you text message from my own number. Look outside. I hesitated,
the weight of the moment pressing down on my chest.
My body screamed at me not to look, but I
knew I had to. Slowly, I turned my head toward
the window, pushing down the rising nausea in my throat,
and through the blinds, I saw a movement. Someone was
standing on my porch, not knocking, not ringing the bell,
just watching. And then in the dim glow of the
street light, I saw its face, my face, and this
time it didn't just grin. It waved slowly, patiently, like
it had all the time in the world. My vision blurred.
I stumbled back, my legs barely holding me up. The
air in the room felt thick and suffocating, and I
tried to convince myself that I was still asleep, that
none of this was happening, but the weight in my
chest told me otherwise. The figure didn't move from the porch.
It just stood there, unwavering, its reflection barely distorted by
the glass. And then, as I gasped for breath, it
did something I will never forget. It reached into its pocket,
pulled out a key, and I heard the dead fold turn.
The front door creaked open. I lurched backward, nearly tripping
over the chair. My breath was loud as the door
creaked open an inch and then another. The cold night
air seeped in, carrying with it a silence so heavy
that it made my ears ring. I didn't want to look,
but I had to, and through the widening gap, I
could see it my reflection, and no, not my reflection.
It was standing outside. It stepped forward, one foot, crossing
the threshold, and moved deliberately, like someone savoring the moment.
It said, was still tilting at an unnatural angle, examining
me with an expression that wasn't quite right. The two
white grin remained frozen in place, but its eyes, its
eyes were not mine. They were empty, hollow, as if
whatever this thing was had never really been a person
at all. I scrambled for something, anything to defend myself,
my hands fumbling across the table, a coffee mug, my laptop,
nothing that would matter, nothing that would stop it. And
then it spoke, and not with words, not with sound,
its lips never actually moved, but inside my head I
heard it clearly, let me in. The voice was mine,
my own tone, my own inflections, but stretched, warped, like
a recording that had been played too many times that
was starting to decay. I clapped my hands over my ears,
squeezing my eyes shut. You're not real, I whispered, You're
not and then footsteps inside My eyes snapped open. The
thing was still at the door, but I could hear
it inside the house, the creak of the wooden floor boards,
the soft rustling of movement just out of sight. I
wasn't looking at the real threat. It was already in here.
The realization hit me like ice in my veins. My
own breathing was too loud, my pulse roared in my ears,
and I turned, scanning the dimly lit room, the corners
where the shadows stretched longer than they should have. A
shape shifted near the hallway, and then another, and was
it looking at just one of them any more? There
were more dozens standing in the doorways, crouching in the corners,
waiting in the dark spaces I had never paid attention
to before. They were me, All of them were me.
The thing at the door finally moved, stepping inside, completely
merging into the others. Their forms blurred, their faces distorting
into grotesque parodies of mine, smiles stretched, two wide, eyes,
black and endless. I stumbled back, pressing against the wall.
My mind screamed at me to run, but where there
was nowhere to go. That's when my phone vibrated again,
a new message for my own number. It's your turn.
I understood now the figures had seen in the videos,
the ones entering their homes. They hadn't just vanished. They
had all been taken, replaced. They had become part of
whatever this was. I had watched their fates unfold, unaware
that the videos weren't just warnings. There were instructions, a process,
a cycle, and now it was happening to me. The
shadows around me deepened, stretching unnaturally across the walls. The figures,
my figures, stepped closer, their forms flickering like a distorted signal.
My breath hitched as I backed into the farthest corner
of the room, but there was no escape. I realized
I wasn't gonna leave. I was going to become another face,
another file, another timestamp in the folder for someone else
to find. The air turned thick, suffocating, and the shadows launched,
and then darkness. Scary Story podcast is written and produced
by me Edwin Karubyez. Thank you very much for your reviews.
I love the story ideas that you guys are putting
on there, and if you want to support the show
and get stories without ads, try out Scary Plus. Thank
you very much for listening. Keep it scary everyone. Let's
see you soon.