u/Flat_Sentence_8227

I’m writing this because I think I’m about to disappear.
Not die.
Disappear.
There’s a difference.
My name is Marcus Hill. I’m thirty-three, born and raised in New Orleans, and until four days ago my biggest problem was making rent on time and pretending I liked my supervisor at work.
Now I’m hiding in a motel outside Baton Rouge
watching my reflection. I breathe half a second too late.
And if you’ve ever heard the story about the man who says you dropped something—????

don’t look down.
I’m serious.
Don’t!!

When I was a kid, people used to call it “Made You Look.”
Every neighborhood had their own version of it.
At school they said there was a man who walked around at night looking for people dumb enough to acknowledge him. Some said he asked about wallets. Some said jewelry. One kid swore his uncle disappeared after someone told him he dropped a lottery ticket.
We used to joke about it.
“Hey bro, you dropped something.”
“Made you look.”
But there was always one rule everyone remembered:
If you looked down… when you looked back up… he had your face.
Then he’d smile and say:
“Made you look.”
And after that, nobody remembered you existed.
I stopped thinking about it years ago.
Until Thursday night.

It was raining hard. The kind of rain that makes the streetlights blur and everything smell like metal.
I stopped at a gas station off Claiborne after work.
Nobody was there except a man standing by the ice machine in a black hoodie.
I didn’t think much of him.
Until he spoke.
“Hey.”
His voice was too calm.
“You dropped your wallet.”
I checked my pocket. Still there.
“I’m good,” I said.
He smiled.
Wrong kind of smile. Like he was copying it from memory.
“You sure?”
I shouldn’t have looked.
But I did.
Down at the wet pavement.
Nothing there.
When I looked back up—
he was closer.
No footsteps. No sound.
Just there.
And I swear to God…
I was looking at myself.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same scar under my chin.
But the smile wasn’t mine.
It was stretched too far.
Then he leaned in and whispered:
“Made you look.”
The lights flickered.
And he was gone.

After that, things started breaking.
My dog wouldn’t come near me.
My girlfriend looked at me like I was a stranger.
My own mother texted me:
Who is this?
By morning, my ID didn’t work.
My bank account didn’t exist.
My photos started removing me like I’d never been there.
Like I was being edited out of reality.

Then I saw him again.
Across the street.
Living my life.
Talking to people.
And nobody noticed anything wrong.
Except me.
Because watching him…
felt familiar.
Like I was the copy.
Not him.

I broke into my own apartment tonight.
Tiana was asleep on the couch.
And he was there.
Wearing my life perfectly now.
When he saw me, he smiled immediately.
Like he’d been waiting.
“You’re fading faster than the others,” he said in my voice.
Then he stood up.
And my dog growled at me.
Not him.
Me.

I ran.
Now I’m in a motel room writing this while the sink runs on its own.
I checked the mirror a few minutes ago.
My reflection didn’t copy me.
It looked at me first.
And smiled.

Someone is outside my door right now.
No footsteps.
No knocking.
Just a voice.
Close to the wood.
“You dropped something.”

If anyone reads this…
don’t answer.
don’t look down.