u/Fasaiokratwr

Hello, everyone. This is a story I've told many times. I've been praised for my imagination and for the way I tell it. Someone even laughed once, which I still don't understand.

I decided to share it with you too, on the off chance you'll believe me. Because it's not fantasy, it's not a dream, and it certainly isn't a novel. It happened to me. I experienced it, and I survived it.

It all started around a year ago. Me and three friends, who I'll call Emma, Justin and Steven, decided to take a trip to the mountains. The beach was too expensive for us at the time, since we were all jobless and had just graduated from college. I found the Airbnb online for only twenty dollars a night. I know it sounds suspicious now, but back then, it didn't really matter to us. Fifty five-star reviews were enough for us to book it for three nights.

We somehow managed to fit all our luggage into the trunk of my comically small car, and we were off. The drive was long, longer than it should have been because of the Friday morning traffic.

I felt a chill run down my spine the moment we reached the foot of the mountain. It made no sense to me back then, and honestly, I can't blame myself for not realizing what it was. The music was loud, and Emma's laugh drowned out any worry that might have formed in my mind, so I ignored it.

I wish I hadn't.

It was past midnight when we finally made it. It was so dark that if it weren't for the faint light coming from inside the Airbnb, we wouldn't have been able to see each other. The lack of any other light around us creeped me out a little, but I didn't want to ruin the trip.

"Steven, use your cat eyes and find the key," Emma joked, pointing at him.

"They're green, not glowing," Steven said, rolling his eyes, and my shoulders relaxed.

We grabbed our bags, found the key under the flowerpot by the door as the owner had instructed, and entered the small apartment. I closed the door behind us.

Closing that door would turn out to be the biggest mistake anyone made that night.

It looked nothing like the pictures; that much was obvious. A single room, with an old carpet covering the wooden floor. A wooden table in the center, with four matching chairs around it. The walls were decorated with all sorts of odd ornaments on run-down shelves, and with paintings I tried not to look at for too long, because it felt like they were watching me.

"Well, we should have expected this," I said, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room.

Steven laughed and let his bag drop to the floor.

"We can always report it through the app," he assured us. "A friend of mine got moved to another Airbnb nearby for free."

"Sounds good," Emma agreed, pacing around the room.

Justin already had a cigarette in his mouth and was patting down his jacket, looking for his lighter.

"Going out for a cig. You coming, Vi?" he asked me.

I nodded and turned to open the door. I stopped dead in my tracks.

There was no door.

Just a smooth, wooden wall. The windows were gone too. I stood there, petrified. I didn't know how I was supposed to react to something like that, so I just stared at it, hoping it would go back to normal.

"Is this a prank?" Justin asked confidently, though the cigarette in his mouth was trembling a bit.

"Where are the beds?" Emma added, scratching her head, something she did when she was nervous but would never admit to.

Steven raised his phone toward the ceiling.

"Signal's gone."

We all turned to look at him in disbelief.

"You know what this is?" Justin started. "One of those dumb TV shows where they take random people and put them in stupid fucking situations."

He nodded, pleased with his explanation. Steven nodded too and looked at Emma, whose foot was bouncing under her.

"Ye-yeah," she said. "I agree."

I should make something clear, in case it wasn't already. We didn't believe we were on TV for even a second. We were just clinging to the hope that there was a logical explanation for our situation.

That was when I took a closer look at the paintings. There were five of them, all the same: four people sitting around the table in the middle of the room. In front of each of them was something red.

A balloon.

I looked at the table. In front of every seat, there was a needle and a small square compartment that looked like it could open.

"Alright, let's play along, then," Justin said, and took a seat.

Steven did the same, giving up on finding a signal. I sat down opposite Justin, with Steven to my right. Emma sat down last, to my left, reluctantly. The light flickered, and my heart skipped a beat.

All four compartments opened at once, and four red balloons floated out. They stopped at head height, one in front of each of us. They weren't tied to anything, and I couldn't figure out how that was possible.

"See? This is a game. There's no way someone would set up something this stupid just for fun," Justin said, grinning.

I looked closer at my balloon. Through the red rubber, I could make out something white inside it, the shape of a playing card.

Justin had found his lighter at some point and had already popped his balloon with his cigarette, even though we'd told him countless times that smoking indoors was a dick move. Sure enough, a card landed on the table in front of him. He read it out loud.

"You are the Hunter. Your job is to kill the Visitor."

He looked up, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.

"At least I got a fun role," he laughed, tapping the table.

Something else came out of his compartment. A revolver.

We all stared at it, and then at Justin, who was already picking it up. He checked the cylinder. It was loaded. Then he aimed it at me.

"Hope it ain't you, partner," he said with a smirk, in that horrible fake Western accent he always used.

"Put it down," I said, my anxiety growing.

"Relax, it's not real. See?"

He aimed at the ceiling and fired. The bang was deafening in the small room, so loud that it made my ears ring. Emma fell backward off her chair, staring at our friend in sheer terror. Steven had instinctively lunged at Justin and grabbed his arm.

Justin was breathing hard now. He looked up at the bullet hole in the ceiling.

"This can't be for real..." he finally said, setting the gun down on the table very carefully.

"Alright," Steven said to no one in particular. He let go of Justin's arm and started pacing around the room. "Joke's over. You win. Let us out. This is stupid."

There was another noise. This time it was a pop, and it came from my left. I slowly turned my head toward it.

Emma had popped her balloon.

"One of you has a card with a clue about the exit," she read, her voice trembling.

She looked at me and Steven.

"Guys, are we seriously playing this?" Steven asked, his hands on his hips.

Emma reached for Justin's pack with shaking hands and lit a cigarette, something she almost never did.

"Steven... Steven, sit down."

It sounded like she was forcing herself to get the words out, which she probably was. After looking at her a second longer than necessary, Steven sat back down to my right and popped his balloon.

"Mine's blank," he said, and showed it to us.

Then they all looked at me. I still remember their faces at that moment: the mix of fear and helplessness, and the hope that my card would show us the way out. I popped my balloon carefully and let the card fall onto the table.

I picked it up and read it silently.

One of you is not real.

I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted metal. I looked at them, swallowing hard, unsure of what to do.

I don't care what you think of me. Whatever this was, I was going to survive it. Justin had a loaded gun and a reason to use it. The last thing he needed was a reason to point it at one of us.

"The key to finding the exit is somewhere high," I said, making it up on the spot, like the horrible friend I was.

Justin stood up, letting out the breath he'd been holding since I picked up my card.

"Let's get this over with," he said, leaving his lit cigarette on the wooden surface of the table, and started going through the shelves.

Emma followed his lead, though it took her more effort, being as short as she was. At one point, she dragged her chair over to reach a higher shelf. I was about to stand up too when I noticed it.

Steven hadn't gotten up.

Steven was staring at me.

"Everything alright?" I asked, my heart pounding in the middle of my chest as if it were trying to jump out.

His hands were trembling, and his eyes were wide. He tapped his index finger on his card, which had been blank just a second ago.

Violet is lying.

"What's your card, Vi?" he asked, doing nothing to hide the fear in his voice.

Tears ran down my face, and my voice caught in my throat. I put both hands over my mouth, trying not to alarm the others. I slid my card toward him. He read it. Then he looked at me.

"You made the right choice," he whispered, and patted my shoulder softly. He slowly stood up, wiping away a tear that had escaped his eye, and started searching the room.

I felt her gaze before I even saw it. Emma was staring down at me from on top of her chair. Her pupils were so dilated that her irises had turned completely black. Her head was tilted slightly, and she'd stopped breathing altogether.

"Why are you so quiet, Vi?" she asked.

Justin and Steven turned around to look at me.

"You lied to us, didn't you?" she went on, slowly climbing down from her chair.

"Emma..." Steven said, stepping between us.

Justin looked at both of us, and then at the revolver. He picked it up, keeping the barrel pointed at the floor.

"Violet, what did your card really say?"

How would Emma know? Had she overheard me and Steven? It was a small room, and the adrenaline might have tricked me into thinking we'd been quiet. But I was certain we had been.

I stared at the floor between my feet, hoping that avoiding eye contact would make it easier. It didn't.

"That one of us isn't real," I said, slowly and carefully.

The silence that followed stretched on for way too long.

"That's the clue..." Steven finally said. "Maybe we... Justin. Justin needs to kill the Visitor."

I looked up at Justin, who had gone pale.

"I'm not shooting anyone. Guys. Snap out of it," he managed to say, sweeping the revolver across all three of us.

"Justin, calm down," Emma said slowly, raising both hands.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do!" he shouted, aiming at her.

"Why would she lie about her card? Think about it!" Emma shouted back, jabbing a finger toward me. "It's obvious!"

"Let's all calm down and be civil," Steven said, trying to de-escalate.

"Shut the fuck up, Steven!" Emma snapped, then turned back to Justin. "Justin, shoot her and we'll escape. That's not Violet."

Justin looked at me. I could see something behind his eyes. It looked like hatred. Determination. Justin was a smart man, even if he didn't show it. He wasn't easily manipulated, and he always made the most logical choice.

That's why I was sure it was the end for me.

I closed my eyes when he pointed the gun at me, and finally broke down.

I heard the gunshot. I heard the thud.

I opened my eyes to see Emma lying lifeless on the floor, a thin stream of smoke rising from the barrel of the revolver.

Justin was breathing uncontrollably, and the gun slipped from his hands. He sank to his knees, staring at what used to be our friend.

The compartment in front of Emma's chair opened once again. Another card slid out.

Steven walked over to it slowly and leaned over to read it.

"Emma was not the Visitor," he read out loud.

Justin looked up at him, and then at me. I'll never forget the look in Steven's blue eyes. It's been burned into my memory ever since, and I see it every time I close my eyes.

We were all fools. How did we not notice it sooner? When did it even happen?

Our Steven has green eyes.

I'm sorry. I need to stop here for now. I'll write the rest when I can. Writing it down made it real again, and I've spent the past year trying to convince myself it wasn't.

Crows are intelligent creatures. They have the ability to recognize human faces. The ability to remember.

When I saved that helpless bird that was stuck on the fence, I certainly didn't expect it to visit me the next day with a gift.

A nail. A human nail.

It probably picked it up from a trashcan, I thought, accepting the gift. It even let me pet it.

A piece of flesh.

It was then that the unease crept in. Where did it find that? It belonged to a person; that much I could recognize.

Maybe if I pay no mind to it, it will leave me alone.

It didn't.

A finger. It looked like it could be mine.

I looked at my arm, and nothing was missing. Cold sweat formed on my forehead.

What should I do? I wondered.

I decided to get rid of the bird. The next time it came back, I'd do it.

It never came. Weeks passed with no sight of it. Maybe it forgot about me. I felt somewhat disappointed, though I couldn't figure out why. I hadn't seen anyone in weeks.

The crow was different when it eventually came back.

Its eyes looked weird. Uncanny. It watched me with the tired eyes of a man who hadn't slept in days.

It opened its beak to reveal an object resting between rows of human teeth.

An ID. The photograph on it was undoubtedly mine. Did I forget to pick it up?

My body screamed at me to grab the crow. Was it human instinct?

I decided to follow it.

I walked through the trees, letting the breeze caress my face. The darkness didn't bother me—I found it comforting.

We reached the main road, and it sat on top of a dumpster off to the side. As if it wanted me to open it.

I saw myself looking at me with wide, unblinking eyes. Or rather, empty sockets.

The body was shoved awkwardly inside that small space. Looking at it, the fog in my head finally cleared.

The accident.

I looked at the corpse's fingers. Five on the right hand, four on the left. The crow had done its best to scavenge the missing pieces for me.

I took a step back and looked down at my own hands. Four fingers on each.

Right.

Humans have five.

The crow leaned into my hand like a loyal dog. I took the severed pinky it had brought me and pressed it onto my left hand, letting the flesh knit together. I reached into the dumpster, snapped a finger off the corpse, and fixed my right hand.

I'm glad it remembered me. Now I just need to make sure no one remembers the corpse.

I know this may sound weird, or even sad. I am deeply paranoid. I cannot allow myself to trust anyone I thought I knew.

It must have started around a month ago, or so I believe. My sister had just made dinner. I distinctly remember the smell of fried meat flooding our small apartment.

One peculiarity of mine was always sitting on the chair that was next to the window. She teased me constantly about it, but never questioned it.

So, when I saw her occupying my usual spot, I was a bit confused.

“We're switching places today?” I asked absentmindedly, already sitting opposite her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, pausing mid-bite.

“I always sit there, that's all,” I pointed out.

She remained still for at least another minute.

“Do you?”

We'd been roommates for years at that point. She certainly knew.

“Have it your way, then,” I replied with a sigh.

We didn't talk much for the remainder of the meal.

I can't quite explain it, but I felt a sense of unease. It was too strong to ignore.

I felt like she was staring at me. Persistently. I was too freaked out to return the look.

It was small things at first.

She stopped saying goodbye to me—something she always did. Our parents stopped calling out of the blue.

One of the framed photos on my nightstand only contained my sister, even though we took it together.

In the span of three weeks, it felt as if I ceased to exist. My friends hadn't messaged me once, and my sister was home even less than before.

It all went downhill about three days ago. I felt incredibly unwell that morning. So, I called in sick from work.

“I'm sorry, but who is this?”

I stared at my wall, dumbfounded.

“Violet…” I replied, unsure of how to react.

I had been working at that company for over five years. It must have been a mistake, or a new secretary.

“I think you have the wrong number. I'm sorry... we've never employed anyone named Violet. Have a nice day.”

The number was correct. I checked it.

My mind tirelessly made up all sorts of excuses. Perhaps a cruel way to let me know I'm fired. I even considered the possibility of it being a nightmare.

The knock on my door interrupted my delirium.

“Violet, are you in there?”

It was my sister's voice. She remembered me. If there was a logical explanation for whatever I was going through, we'd figure it out together. Like we always did.

Right. My sister.

She was supposed to be at work. She had been treating me as if I never existed. Did she finally realize that she took it too far?

Every fiber of my being screamed at me to not open that door.

I forced my weakened body to stand up. Just as my hand met the doorknob, a shiver ran down my spine.

Why was it so cold?

“Violet, open up,” she said softly.

I know my sister better than I know myself. We're twins, after all.

That wasn't her voice. The gentleness was deeply unsettling. It sounded disingenuous, almost forced.

I slowly backed away from the door, trying as hard as I could to not make a sound.

Knock.

“Violet? Are you alright?”

That wasn't my sister.

I dropped my weight on the bed, hiding under the covers. The knocking became more persistent.

“Open the door, Vi. It's me; I'm worried.”

She sounded different from before. Impatient.

The knocking turned to banging, and the banging turned to kicking.

“Open the door!” she ordered.

All I could do was pray that they couldn't hear me hyperventilating.

“Open the fucking door!” they repeated, louder.

Raw, unadulterated fury radiated from them. It sounded as if my door would get destroyed any second.

Unable to control myself, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Get away from me! I'm not opening the door!”

My reaction might sound stupid given the situation, but I felt the primal urge to do that.

The breath caught in my throat when I heard them back away. I genuinely would have felt safer if they hadn't, because what happened next was far more terrifying.

I could hear them run around the apartment. Too fast for any normal human. That wasn't all.

They were crawling. Cold sweat formed on my forehead as I imagined them clinging to the walls on all fours.

“Open the door!”

The voice was distorted and impossibly high-pitched. I frantically searched around for my phone as the being got quieter.

“Get away from me! I'm not opening the door!” I screamed, making my neck feel sore.

“That's alright,” they replied, the tone turning gentle once again.

“I'm already inside.”

I slowly turned my head, dropping my phone to the ground. It was my sister. Or rather, an attempt at looking like her.

The eyes had no warmth behind them, and they were slightly bigger than normal. The smile. Oh, God, the smile. It looked too wide for her face to accommodate.

Her jaw dislocated, opening her mouth impossibly wide to reveal a spiral of teeth that climbed deeper into her esophagus.

“How could I forget about you?” they asked, the voice coming from the space around them as they got closer. “There is barely anything left of you out there. I saved the main course for last.”

The room was so cold. My erratic breaths turned to thin fog.

When I opened my eyes again, I was at a hospital. Someone told me I'd been unconscious for two days. My sister called the ambulance.

“She's coming to visit tonight,” they announced.

My eyes widened and the beeping of the heart monitor accelerated. My sister doesn't remember who I am. Nobody does.

The room is getting cold again. And I can already hear her crawling inside the wall.

I know this may sound weird, or even sad. I am deeply paranoid, and I have nobody to tell this to. I cannot allow myself to trust anyone I thought I knew.

It must have started around a month ago, or so I believe. My sister had just made dinner. I distinctly remember the smell of fried meat flooding our small apartment. It was a pleasant scent, masking the cigarette smoke that lingered in the air.

Everyone has their own peculiarities—I admit that I have plenty. One of mine was always sitting on the chair that was next to the window. She teased me constantly about it, but never questioned it.

So, when I saw her occupying my usual spot, I was a bit confused. I didn’t think much of it. Work had taken a toll on her that day, so I assumed she'd just forgotten.

“We're switching places today?” I asked absentmindedly, already sitting opposite her.

The look she gave me was one of confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked, pausing mid-bite.

“I always sit there, that's all,” I pointed out.

The silence was only broken by the sound of my chewing. She remained still for at least another minute.

“Do you?”

We'd been roommates for years at that point. She certainly knew. I concluded it must have been a bad joke.

“Have it your way, then,” I replied with a sigh.

We brushed past it and didn't talk much for the remainder of the meal.

I can't quite explain it, but I felt a sense of unease. I tried to drown it, but it was too strong to ignore.

I felt like she was staring at me. Persistently. I could imagine her unblinking eyes following my every move.

Frankly, I was too freaked out to return the look. I don't think I even washed the dishes that night; I simply went to bed.

It was small things at first. She stopped saying goodbye to me—something she always did. My clothes were left unfolded, even though the chores were shared.

I slowly started realizing that something was wrong. Our parents stopped calling out of the blue, even though they did so every other night.

One of the framed photos on my nightstand only contained my sister, even though we took it together.

In the span of three weeks, it felt as if I ceased to exist. My friends hadn't messaged me once, and my sister was home even less than before.

Maybe she's seeing someone, I kept telling myself, trying to rationalize what was happening to me.

It all went downhill about three days ago.

It could have been the anxiety or the growing paranoia, but I felt incredibly unwell that morning. So, I called in sick from work.

“I'm sorry, but who is this?”

I stared at my wall, dumbfounded.

“Violet…” I replied, unsure of how to react.

I had been working at that company for over five years. My boss was quite fond of me, for reasons I don't feel like expanding upon. It must have been a mistake, or a new secretary.

The woman on the other end said something I wasn't able to make out before she broke the news to me. It made my blood run cold.

“I think you have the wrong number. I'm sorry... we've never employed anyone named Violet. Have a nice day.”

The ground vanished under my feet. All I could do was keep my eyes glued to the wall, or else I'd have a breakdown. I checked the contact three times. Then I checked the company website. Same number.

I thought of calling my boss on his personal number, but I was frightened to do so. What if he'd forgotten about me too?

My mind tirelessly made up all sorts of excuses. A coordinated prank. Perhaps a cruel way to let me know I'm fired. At one point I even considered the possibility of it being a nightmare, and that I'd wake up to find everything back to normal.

The knock on my door interrupted my delirium.

“Violet, are you in there?”

It was my sister's voice. A wave of relief washed over me. She remembered me. If there was a logical explanation for whatever I was going through, I was certain that we'd figure it out together. Like we always did.

Right. My sister.

She was supposed to be at work. She had neglected me all that time, treating me as if I never existed. Was it a joke? Did she finally realize that she took it too far?

Every fiber of my being screamed at me to not open that door. I felt trapped and helpless for some unknown reason.

It's my sister for fuck's sake, I told myself.

I forced my weakened body to stand up and took slow steps toward the other side of my room. Just as my hand met the doorknob, a shiver ran down my spine.

Why was it so cold?

“Violet, open up,” she said softly.

If she hadn't said that, I probably would have. I know my sister better than I know myself. We're twins, after all.

That wasn't her voice. Or rather, that wasn't her tone. The gentleness was deeply unsettling. It sounded disingenuous, almost forced.

I slowly backed away from the door, trying as hard as I could to not make a sound.

Knock.

“Violet? Are you alright?”

That wasn't my sister.

I dropped my weight on the bed, hiding under the covers as I practically suffocated myself with my pillow.

The knocking became more persistent.

“Open the door, Vi. It's me; I'm worried.”

She sounded different from before. Impatient.

The knocking turned to banging, and the banging turned to kicking.

“Open the door!” she ordered.

I don't know who that was, but they sounded angry. All I could do was pray that they couldn't hear me hyperventilating.

“Open the fucking door!” they repeated, louder.

Raw, unadulterated fury radiated from them. It sounded as if my door would get destroyed any second.

Unable to control myself, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Get away from me! I'm not opening the door!”

My reaction might sound stupid given the situation, but I felt the primal urge to do that. Feeling threatened does that to a person. Almost as if I wanted to appear dangerous, even though I was far from it.

The breath caught in my throat when I heard them back away. I genuinely would have felt safer if they hadn't, because what happened next was far more terrifying.

I could hear them run around the apartment. The speed of the footsteps was irregular, too fast for any normal human. That wasn't all.

They were crawling. Cold sweat formed on my forehead as I imagined them clinging to the walls on all fours.

“Open the door!”

The voice was distorted and impossibly high-pitched. I frantically searched around for my phone as the being got quieter.

“Get away from me! I'm not opening the door!” I screamed, making my neck feel sore.

“That's alright,” they replied, the tone turning gentle once again.

“I'm already inside, Violet.”

I slowly turned my head, dropping my phone to the ground. It was my sister. Or rather, an attempt at looking like her.

The eyes had no warmth behind them, and they were slightly bigger than normal. The smile. Oh, God, the smile. It looked too wide for her face to accommodate.

Her jaw dislocated, opening her mouth impossibly wide to reveal a spiral of teeth that climbed deeper into her esophagus.

“How could I forget about you?” they asked, the voice coming from the space around them as they got closer. “There is barely anything left of you out there. I saved the main course for last.”

The room was so cold. My erratic breaths turned to thin fog.

When I opened my eyes again, I was surrounded by the fluorescent lights of the hospital. Someone told me I'd been unconscious for two days. They said my sister called the ambulance.

“How about my sister?” I asked, although I knew the answer to that.

“She's coming to visit tonight.”

My eyes widened and the beeping of the heart monitor accelerated. My sister doesn't remember who I am. Nobody does.

I don't know what to do. I know that there's not much you can recommend, but please, help me.

Please, I beg of you, do not forget about this post.

Edit 1: Every time I refresh the page, the view count gets lower. I don't know what to do. The doctors didn't even remember why I was hospitalized.

Edit 2: I forgot I posted this. What is happening to me?

Edit 3: I can hear her crawling inside the wall. I'm so scared.

I write short horror stories, and usually post them here. One thing I noticed is that I can't write an ending to save my life.

How do y'all come up with satisfying endings? I think I overused the hospital trope quite a bit.

Would it be best if I started writing with a clear ending in mind, so that I can pivot the story accordingly?

I'm sorry if this is obvious and I'm just not getting it.

Dio stole Jonathan's body. It would make sense that they would technically be related, because of Jonathan's blood and all.

However, what I understood in the final episodes was that Dio did not in fact have Joestar blood, that's why he needed Joseph's to stabilize himself.

I know that you never ask "why" or "how" when it comes to Jojo's, but I've had this question for some time now.

I know it means that our chats won't be private anymore (were they ever private?) but I'm asking generally.

Will they check our entire chat history? Can they take legal action over a personal message? Will they use our messages to train AI?

I've already read about this, but I wanted to get some more answers. Maybe I'm making this out to be a way bigger deal than it actually is, or, it actually is that big a deal.