u/IT_T

It started on a random Thursday night. I had just moved into the apartment a week prior. It was small and run-down, but it was the first place I could finally call my own. I was lying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through my phone while a rhythmic scraping and pounding echoed from inside the drywall right next to the mattress. It had happened every single night since I unpacked.
"Just ol' plumbin' in an ol' buildin', kid. Whaddya expect for this kinda rent?" my landlord had rasped with a phlegmy shrug when I brought it up on move-in day, squinting his yellowed eyes like I was trying to cheat him out of a dime.
I let out a tired sigh. I went back to my screen, scrolling past Instagram posts showcasing the glamorous, sun-drenched lives my old classmates seemed to be living, trying to numb myself to the noise.
Then, the scraping abruptly stopped.
A second later, a cold, sudden pressure brushed against my leg. A small, pale human finger had poked clean through a gap in the drywall—and it was resting against my bare thigh.
"WTF!"
I scrambled off the mattress, heart hammering violently against my ribs. I backed into the center of the room, staring at the wall, but the finger had already vanished into the dark slit. Adrenaline and sheer disbelief pushed me forward. I crept back toward the wall, switched on my phone's flashlight, and pressed the beam and my eye close to the jagged opening.
Through the narrow ray of light, there was no empty wall cavity. Instead, illuminated by the harsh glare, a smooth, pale mass of human-skin-like flesh pressed against the opening, heavy and unmoving.
Suddenly, the skin twitched. A horizontal seam tore itself open right across the flesh, stretching into a wide, jagged mouth that split into a silent, cavernous laugh.
I recoiled in horror, dropping my phone. Before I could even run for the bedroom door, the tiny hole in the wall began to change. The solid plasterboard didn't crack or shatter; instead, the edges of the opening began to liquefy and dissolve, turning softer and wider by the second. The wall warped like melting wax, expanding into a gaping, impossible void right next to my bed.
From the center of that dissolving darkness, a head with long, black, oily hair slowly pushed forward.
As it tilted out into my room, the greasy hair parted to reveal that it had no eyes or nose. It was just that same smooth, tight skin stretched over bone, dominated by the wide, jagged mouth I had just seen through the drywall. My legs completely locked up, and I collapsed onto the floor, paralyzed with fear.
The blank face snapped in my direction, and the muscles beneath its surface began to ripple and twitch violently.
I watched in paralyzed horror as my own nose, my own jawline, and my own exact eyes ballooned and pushed outward through its blank skin like wet clay. Once the transformation was complete, a wicked smile spread across its face.
With my exact features fully formed, it tilted its head, delivering my own voice back to me with a hollow, mechanical cadence: "Thank you for taking my place."
Its wicked grin widened, stretching the stolen skin to its absolute limit.
Before I could even move, its hand shot out with blinding speed and wrapped around my ankle. The moment those cold, unyielding fingers clamped onto my skin, a wave of paralyzing dizziness hit me, and my vision instantly went black.
***
When I finally opened my eyes, I was engulfed in absolute, suffocating darkness.
I was standing trapped in a narrow, empty space, choked by dust and old insulation. I reached out in a panic, my hands immediately hitting solid wooden studs and cold plasterboard on either side of me. The drywall in front of me was completely sealed, except for one tiny exception—there was a tiny hole left behind, one that perfectly fit a single finger.
Panicking, I tried to scream for help.
Nothing came out. My jaw wouldn't move. In sheer terror, I frantically ran my hands over my own face. My nose felt flat, melting back into my skull. My eyelids were fusing together, and a terrifying layer of smooth, tight skin was rapidly spreading over my lips, sealing my mouth completely shut.
Hopeless and locked in, I could only pound and scratch at the dark structure. I poked my finger out through the slit from time to time, but no one noticed me.
I didn't know how much time had passed. Days? Weeks? I just pounded, scratched, and poked. Pound, scratch, poke. Pound, scratch, poke. When I ran my hands over my head, I realized my hair had slowly grown from shoulder-length to my waist. I must have been trapped there for months, yet I never felt thirsty, hungry, or even tired. I was just a ghost in the drywall, aimlessly repeating the cycle. Pound, scratch, poke.
Then, one quiet night, the familiar, rhythmic scrolling sound of a smartphone echoed from the other side of the drywall.
I froze. I realized someone was finally here.
With the last of my humanity, I poked out my finger, and there was some nice, warm human flesh.
Finally, someone is here to take my place.

It started on a random Thursday night. I had just moved into the apartment a week prior. It was small and run-down, but it was the first place I could finally call my own. I was lying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through my phone while a rhythmic scraping and pounding echoed from inside the drywall right next to the mattress. It had happened every single night since I unpacked.
"Just ol' plumbin' in an ol' buildin', kid. Whaddya expect for this kinda rent?" my landlord had rasped with a phlegmy shrug when I brought it up on move-in day, squinting his yellowed eyes like I was trying to cheat him out of a dime.
I let out a tired sigh. I went back to my screen, scrolling past Instagram posts showcasing the glamorous, sun-drenched lives my old classmates seemed to be living, trying to numb myself to the noise.
Then, the scraping abruptly stopped.
A second later, a cold, sudden pressure brushed against my leg. A small, pale human finger had poked clean through a gap in the drywall—and it was resting against my bare thigh.
"WTF!"
I scrambled off the mattress, heart hammering violently against my ribs. I backed into the center of the room, staring at the wall, but the finger had already vanished into the dark slit. Adrenaline and sheer disbelief pushed me forward. I crept back toward the wall, switched on my phone's flashlight, and pressed the beam and my eye close to the jagged opening.
Through the narrow ray of light, there was no empty wall cavity. Instead, illuminated by the harsh glare, a smooth, pale mass of human-skin-like flesh pressed against the opening, heavy and unmoving.
Suddenly, the skin twitched. A horizontal seam tore itself open right across the flesh, stretching into a wide, jagged mouth that split into a silent, cavernous laugh.
I recoiled in horror, dropping my phone. Before I could even run for the bedroom door, the tiny hole in the wall began to change. The solid plasterboard didn't crack or shatter; instead, the edges of the opening began to liquefy and dissolve, turning softer and wider by the second. The wall warped like melting wax, expanding into a gaping, impossible void right next to my bed.
From the center of that dissolving darkness, a head with long, black, oily hair slowly pushed forward.
As it tilted out into my room, the greasy hair parted to reveal that it had no eyes or nose. It was just that same smooth, tight skin stretched over bone, dominated by the wide, jagged mouth I had just seen through the drywall. My legs completely locked up, and I collapsed onto the floor, paralyzed with fear.
The blank face snapped in my direction, and the muscles beneath its surface began to ripple and twitch violently.
I watched in paralyzed horror as my own nose, my own jawline, and my own exact eyes ballooned and pushed outward through its blank skin like wet clay. Once the transformation was complete, a wicked smile spread across its face.
With my exact features fully formed, it tilted its head, delivering my own voice back to me with a hollow, mechanical cadence: "Thank you for taking my place."
Its wicked grin widened, stretching the stolen skin to its absolute limit.
Before I could even move, its hand shot out with blinding speed and wrapped around my ankle. The moment those cold, unyielding fingers clamped onto my skin, a wave of paralyzing dizziness hit me, and my vision instantly went black.
***
When I finally opened my eyes, I was engulfed in absolute, suffocating darkness.
I was standing trapped in a narrow, empty space, choked by dust and old insulation. I reached out in a panic, my hands immediately hitting solid wooden studs and cold plasterboard on either side of me. The drywall in front of me was completely sealed, except for one tiny exception—there was a tiny hole left behind, one that perfectly fit a single finger.
Panicking, I tried to scream for help.
Nothing came out. My jaw wouldn't move. In sheer terror, I frantically ran my hands over my own face. My nose felt flat, melting back into my skull. My eyelids were fusing together, and a terrifying layer of smooth, tight skin was rapidly spreading over my lips, sealing my mouth completely shut.
Hopeless and locked in, I could only pound and scratch at the dark structure. I poked my finger out through the slit from time to time, but no one noticed me.
I didn't know how much time had passed. Days? Weeks? I just pounded, scratched, and poked. Pound, scratch, poke. Pound, scratch, poke. When I ran my hands over my head, I realized my hair had slowly grown from shoulder-length to my waist. I must have been trapped there for months, yet I never felt thirsty, hungry, or even tired. I was just a ghost in the drywall, aimlessly repeating the cycle. Pound, scratch, poke.
Then, one quiet night, the familiar, rhythmic scrolling sound of a smartphone echoed from the other side of the drywall.
I froze. I realized someone was finally here.
With the last of my humanity, I poked out my finger, and there was some nice, warm human flesh.
Finally, someone is here to take my place.

A sharp, relentless chorus of pings from her phone abruptly jolted Samantha awake, pulling her from a heavy, dreamless sleep into the pitch-black quiet of her bedroom. She blinked hard against the harsh glare of the glowing screen, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs as she saw the time—2:50 AM—and realized her food blog had just gained two million followers overnight.
A toxic mixture of absolute triumph and sickening guilt washed over her. They were all raving about her latest post: the Pandan Pancake recipe. The exact recipe Samantha had quietly ripped from her roommate's personal journal two months ago, right after she found her cold, lifeless body in the bathtub.
Her joy vanished entirely, however, when she noticed the comment section was turning into a bloodbath. A coordinated wave of accounts was attacking her credibility in the dead of night. Her eyes scanned the accusatory text scrolling past:
“You didn’t create this.”
“Thief.”
“I know exactly whose kitchen you stole this from.”
“You built your entire future on a dead girl’s words. Do you really think you won't have to pay the tax?”
To make matters worse, her phone began vibrating violently in her palm with incoming text messages from unknown numbers, all containing a single, chilling phrase: “Give it back.”
Throwing the phone onto her bed, she looked across the room. There, mounted on the wall directly opposite her bed, was the large vanity mirror. Illuminated only by the pale streetlights filtering through the blinds, she caught sight of her own reflection and froze.
She was wearing her late roommate’s favorite silk robe.
"What's going on...?" Samantha muttered, staring at her tired face across the distance of the room. Her mind raced, but her memory of the previous night was a pitch-black blank. All she could recall was having a drink at the corner bar with her cousin, Yasmin, who had come to visit from New York.
A cold dread washed over her. She reached into the pocket of the stolen silk robe, her fingers brushing against a crumpled napkin. Written on it in messy, frantic handwriting was a note: “Thanks for the inspiration, Sammy—enjoy the pancakes.”
Samantha stared at the napkin, trying in vain to piece the night together. Trembling, she shot a quick text to her cousin: “Hey Yasmin, great seeing you last night! By any chance, do you remember what time we left the bar, or... anything after that? 😂”
She hit send. The status instantly flipped to "Read" in the dark room.
A second later, a photo message popped up from Yasmin's number. Samantha opened it, expecting a joke, but her breath caught. It was a picture of the corner bar's bathroom mirror, taken last night. In the reflection, Yasmin was smiling, but standing right behind her in the stalls—completely unnoticed—was a blurry, dark figure with a monstrously wide grin.
Underneath the photo, a final text from Yasmin's phone arrived: “She was delicious, Sammy. Thanks for bringing her along.”
Samantha stared at the screen, her mind completely blanking. What the actual fuck?
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, frozen. Anger and confusion battled against the fog in her brain. Yasmin had always had a warped sense of humor, but this was crossing a massive line. It had to be a sick joke. Either Yasmin was completely wasted and messing with her, or someone at the bar had stolen her phone and was playing a twisted prank. There was no way this was real. It made zero sense.
She started aggressively typing a reply—WTF is wrong with you?—but her fingers stopped before she could hit send. A heavy, suffocating stillness seemed to settle over the dark bedroom, making her skin prickle with an unease she couldn't rationalize.
Then, the absolute silence of the apartment was shattered.
*Ding.*
The glowing numbers on her alarm clock flipped seamlessly to 3:00 AM as a sharp, metallic ring echoed from the kitchen. Samantha’s phone trembled in her hand as her eyes snapped toward the bedroom doorway, looking out into the pitch-black hallway.
It was the old mechanical dial-timer on the oven. The one Jessie always used because she insisted digital timers ruined the rhythm of baking.
*Tick... tick... tick... tick...*
The timer began its slow, rhythmic countdown in the dark. Samantha hadn't touched the stove in days. And suddenly, the defensive anger shielding her from the text message began to violently unravel.
Panic overriding her paralysis, she scrambled off the bed, desperate to flee toward the front door. But she was blinded by the dark, and in her frantic haste, her shoulder slammed hard into the frame of her bedroom closet. The impact jarred the door, causing it to swing wide open.
Inside, hanging perfectly in the center of the completely empty closet, was a pristine, identical silk robe—except this one was covered in dark, unmistakable bloodstains.
Samantha froze, staring at the gory garment. Before she could even take a second breath, the hairs on the back of her neck stood dead on end. The air behind her suddenly turned frigid, carrying the heavy, cloying scent of artificial sweetness.
A wet, rattling exhale brushed against her ear.
"Turn around, Sammy."
Samantha spun around.
Jessie was standing there in the shadows. A large, horrific grin split her face, the corners of her mouth stretching so wide they almost touched her ears. Her teeth were sharpened into jagged, canine points, set against gums that bled a deep, unnatural crimson. In her hands, she balanced a plate of perfectly fluffy, neon-green pandan pancakes.
"Wanna try some?" Jessie asked.
Samantha pressed herself hard against the closet door, the bloodstained robe brushing against her shoulder. "I... I thought you were dead," she choked out.
Jessie’s terrifying smile widened even further, her head tilting with a sickening, audible crack.
"You always did have an appetite for things that didn't belong to you, Sammy," Jessie whispered, her voice a wet, hollow echo of the girl she used to be. "You watched me pour my soul into those pages. You watched me drown in despair when the brands and sponsors rejected me, never knowing *you* were the one who leaked my content as your own."
"Please, Jessie..." Samantha sobbed, backing into the bloody robe. "I'll tell them the truth! I'll give it all back!"
"It's a bit late for an edit, don't you think?" Jessie chuckled, the sound rattling like dry bones through her razor-sharp teeth. "When I swallowed those pills, I thought I was taking my recipes to the grave. But you just couldn't let me rest. You monetized my ghost. You took the exclusive brand deals. You wanted my life, Sammy—so now, you're going to help me finish the preparation."
The steaming, vibrant green pancakes emitted a scent so overwhelmingly, artificially sweet it made Samantha’s stomach churn in the darkness.
"Oh, Sammy, it was never about the money," Jessie loomed closer, her massive, distorted grin twitching as she looked down at the plate. "Now you just have to pay the ingredients tax."
Samantha's legs turned to jelly. Her strength vanished, and she collapsed heavily onto the floor.
Jessie slowly knelt down until her monstrous face was mere inches away, filling Samantha's lungs with the suffocating scent of pandan and burnt sugar.
"The secret ingredient isn't something you can buy, Sammy," Jessie whispered, her sharpened canine teeth scraping against each other with a sickening click. "It takes a little bit of *soul* to make them taste that sweet—and yours has been looking so wonderfully ripe ever since you stole my glory."
With a sudden, lightning-fast snap of her jaw, Jessie didn't bite. Instead, she inhaled deeply.
A glowing, faint green vapor began to seep from Samantha's parted, terrified lips, flowing straight into the monster's open mouth. As her vision began to blur into total blackness and the last of her life drained away, Samantha realized with absolute horror that she was about to become the permanent flavor profile for the next viral recipe.