It started with a knock on the door.
At exactly 3:03 AM.
Every night.
I never opened it.
But one night, I looked through the peephole…
and saw myself staring back.
Same face. Same eyes. Same tired breath.
But the smile…
the smile wasn't mine.
---
I thought it was a dream.
Maybe stress.
Lack of sleep.
A breakdown.
But the texts started next.
From my number.
To my friends.
Inviting them over.
Saying things I never said.
---
Then came the photos.
Me. In places I'd never been.
Me. Holding knives.
Me. Smiling while people screamed.
---
I told the police.
They laughed.
"Maybe you need rest."
They didn't laugh when my neighbor turned up gutted,
smiling wide with my name carved into his chest.
---
I stopped sleeping.
Stopped eating.
Started hearing footsteps inside my house
even when I was the only one home.
I caught glimpses in mirrors—
a version of me just a second too slow.
Blinking when I didn't.
Grinning when I cried.
---
Then it spoke.
> "You don't deserve this body."
"You waste your skin."
"Let me wear it better."
---
It didn't want to kill me.
It wanted to replace me.
To become me.
It began showing up to my job.
Wearing my clothes.
Sleeping in my bed.
Everyone said, "You seem… different lately."
But no one noticed it wasn't me anymore.
---
Now I'm the one outside.
Banging on the glass.
Screaming silently.
Watching it live my life.
Better than I ever did.
---
And every night,
it stares into the mirror with my face,
and whispers:
> "Thank you… for letting me out."