The Screenshot 👁📱 Ankit never believed in ghosts. He believed in data. Everything leaves a trace — timestamps, metadata, IP logs, digital footprints. Nothing just happens. There is always a reason. That’s what he told himself at 2:17 AM while scrolling through his gallery. He had been clearing storage — deleting memes, client drafts, random screenshots. His room was silent except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Outside, the city slept. Then he saw it. A screenshot. Filename: Screenshot_2026-02-28-02-43-11.png Ankit frowned. “February 28?” he muttered. Today was February 27. His thumb hovered before he tapped it open. The image loaded slowly. His breath stopped. It was him. Sleeping. On this bed. In this room. Same grey T-shirt. Same messy blanket twisted around his legs. The angle was wrong. It wasn’t from above like a ceiling camera. It wasn’t from across the room. It was from near the wardrobe. As if someone had been standing there. Watching. His heart began to pound, but his mind snapped into logic mode. “This is edited. A glitch. Malware.” He immediately checked the details. Date created: February 28, 2:43 AM. Device: His phone. Ankit swallowed. “That’s tomorrow.” He turned slowly toward the wardrobe. It stood slightly open. Just a thin dark line between the doors. He got up, legs weak but controlled, and walked toward it. Each step felt loud. He pulled the doors open. Clothes. Hangers. Shoes. Nothing else. He exhaled shakily and laughed at himself. “Sleep deprivation,” he whispered. “You’re imagining patterns.” Still, he locked his door. Checked the windows. Checked under the bed. Then he set his phone on the table and opened a metadata analyzer app. If someone edited this file, it would show. It didn’t. No external software. No transfer history. It was taken directly from his device. At 2:43 AM. Tomorrow. He didn’t sleep. Instead, he set up precautions. He installed motion-detection recording apps. Covered his laptop camera. Placed his phone on the desk facing the room. Enabled screen recording. If something moved, he would have proof. At 2:40 AM, his pulse began racing. Three minutes. He stared at the clock on his screen. 2:41. His room felt colder. 2:42. The fan began making a slow clicking sound — click… click… click… 2:43. His phone vibrated. He flinched so hard it almost fell off the desk. A notification. Screenshot saved. His hands trembled as he picked it up. New file: Screenshot_2026-02-28-02-43-09.png He hadn’t touched anything. Slowly, he opened it. His stomach dropped. It was him. Standing near the desk. Looking at his phone. The image was taken from the bed. As if someone — something — was sitting where he had slept. Watching him. His breath became shallow. “No,” he whispered. He spun around. The bed was empty. The blanket slightly dented. As if someone had just gotten up. The wardrobe creaked. Ankit’s head snapped toward it. It was closed. He hadn’t closed it. His chest tightened painfully. Another vibration. Another screenshot saved. This time the preview showed darkness. He forced himself to open it. It was inside the wardrobe. Taken from deep within the clothes. Through the small crack between the doors. And in the reflection of the mirror across the room… He saw himself. Standing frozen. And behind him— Something tall. Too tall. Its head tilted unnaturally to one side. Its limbs are thin and elongated. Its face… blurred. As if the camera couldn’t focus on it. Or reality refused to. Ankit slowly turned his head. Nothing. The room was empty. But his phone vibrated again. Another screenshot. This one is closer. The figure was clearer now. Its “face” wasn’t blurred. It was copying his. Same eyes. Same nose. Same expression. But smiling. Ankit wasn’t smiling. His reflection in the real mirror wasn’t smiling either. But the one in the screenshot was. And its eyes were looking directly at the camera. Suddenly the lights flickered. His phone screen glitched. The front camera opened by itself. He saw his own face staring back at him. Except— The image was delayed. By a second. He moved his hand. The screen version moved after. And it smiled first. His stomach twisted violently. The delayed version leaned closer to the camera. Closer than physically possible. Its mouth opened. And a whisper came through the speaker. “You weren’t supposed to stay awake.” The wardrobe doors slammed open. The lights went out. His phone fell from his hands. Darkness swallowed the room. The next morning, sunlight filled the apartment. The door was locked from inside. Everything looked normal. Ankit lay in his bed. Still. Eyes open. Staring at the ceiling. Police ruled it cardiac arrest. Stress-related. His phone was found on the floor. On the screen was a final screenshot. Timestamp: February 29 – 2:43 AM. In the image, Ankit was sleeping peacefully. And beside the bed— Someone stood holding the phone. Smiling. With his face. 👁 THE END
Powerfully unsettling. My heart actually beating faster once 2:43am came lol. Gave me the same chills a psychological thrill game or maybe two that my brother watched playthroughs of recently. I ought to name drop them here. The digital evidence of someone watching you is a new level of horror indeed.