u/ScaredyCat87

So my friends and I are never taking a "shortcut" again. Ever.

It was last Saturday. Me, Jake, Mia, and Chris were driving back from a ski trip up north. We were all exhausted and just wanted to get home. GPS said our usual route would take three hours because of traffic. Then Jake said "I know a shortcut, my uncle told me about it."

We all agreed because none of us wanted to sit in traffic.

Big mistake.

The shortcut was this narrow road through the mountains. No streetlights. No guardrails. Just trees and snow everywhere. At first it was fine. Kind of pretty actually. But then the snow started coming down heavier. And heavier. Until we could barely see five feet in front of the car.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Mia asked.

"Yeah it's fine," Jake said. But his voice sounded nervous.

Then the car started sliding.

"Shoot," Chris said, gripping the wheel. "We're losing traction."

The car spun twice and then just stopped. Stuck. Buried in two feet of snow.

We all sat there in silence. My heart was pounding.

"Okay, okay," Jake said. "We just need to push it out. No big deal."

We all got out. The cold hit me like a wall. It was so quiet. The whole world was muffled. And dark. So dark.

We tried pushing. Nothing. The car wasn't moving at all. Chris tried spinning the tires but they just dug deeper.

"Check your phones," Mia said.

No signal. None of us. We were completely stranded.

Then we saw the lights.

Through the snow and the trees, maybe a hundred yards away. A house. With a warm yellow light in the window.

"Thank God," Jake said. "Someone lives here. We can ask for help."

We started walking toward it. The snow was up to our knees. Every step was exhausting. But the house looked so warm and safe. I just wanted to get there.

We got closer and something felt wrong. The house looked old. Really old. The paint was peeling. The windows were boarded up except for that one light. And there were no tire tracks in the snow. No footprints. Nothing.

We knocked on the door. No answer. We knocked again.

Then the door creaked open. By itself.

Inside was this living room with a fireplace. The fire was burning. There were chairs and a table and it looked like someone had just been there. But it was empty. And dusty. No one had lived there for years.

"Hello?" Chris called out.

No response.

Then we heard it. A scratching sound. From the basement door.

We all looked at each other. Nobody moved.

The scratching got louder.

And then the basement door opened. Just a crack. And a voice came out. Really quiet.

"More of them? They always take the shortcut. They always get stuck. They always come to me."

We ran. We didn't even think. Just ran. Back to the car. We all piled in and locked the doors. Chris tried the engine again and it actually started this time. The wheels spun but then gripped and the car lurched forward.

We drove and drove and didn't stop until we hit the main road.

The next day Jake called his uncle. Asked him about the shortcut. His uncle was quiet for a second. Then he said "Oh that road. Yeah don't go there. People go missing on that road. There's an old house out there. They say something lives in the basement. Something that waits for the snow."

The worst part?

When we got home I found something in my jacket pocket. A small piece of paper. I don't remember putting it there.

It said "You got lucky. Next time stay longer. I like visitors."

I don't know when it got there. I don't know how.

But I think we woke something up. And I think it knows where we live now.

So I don't know who else to tell this to because everyone will think I'm insane. But I need to write it down somewhere.

​

Last week I found this old phone at a garage sale. Like a really old flip phone from the early 2000s. It was only five bucks and I thought it looked cool so I bought it. The lady selling it gave me this weird look when I picked it up. Like she wanted to say something but didn't.

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Anyway I took it home and charged it using this old charger I found in a drawer. It actually turned on which was surprising. The screen was all cracked and the buttons were sticky but whatever. I was just messing around with it.

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Then it rang.

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I almost jumped out of my skin. No one knew I had this phone. There was no SIM card in it. It shouldn't have been able to ring at all.

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But it did.

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I stared at the screen. It said "Unknown Caller." My hand was shaking but I answered anyway because I'm an idiot.

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"Hello?" I said.

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There was this static noise. And then a voice. Really quiet. Like a whisper but also kind of crackly.

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"Help me."

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I froze. The voice sounded young. Like a kid. And it was coming through the speaker all distorted.

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"Who is this?" I asked.

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"Help me please. I'm stuck."

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Then the call ended.

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I sat there for like ten minutes just staring at the phone. My heart was beating so fast. I told myself it was a prank or some glitch or whatever. I almost threw the phone away but I didn't. I don't know why.

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The next night it rang again. Same time. Same unknown caller.

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"Hello?" I answered.

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"Did you come?" the voice asked.

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"Come where?"

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"The basement. I've been waiting. It's cold down here."

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I felt chills all over my body. "I don't know what you're talking about."

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The voice got quieter. Almost sad. "I thought you were coming. No one ever comes."

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Then it hung up.

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I was freaking out at this point. I looked up the address of the garage sale lady. I don't even know why. I just had this feeling.

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Her house was like twenty minutes away. I drove there that night. The house looked abandoned. Like no one had lived there for years. But there was a For Sale sign in the yard and it looked recent.

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I walked around the back and found this little window well. Like a basement window. I looked down and my blood went cold.

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There was a small room down there. And in the corner I saw something. A tiny sneaker. And a backpack. Both covered in dust.

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The phone in my pocket rang again.

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"Did you find me?" the voice whispered.

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I ran. I didn't look back. I just got in my car and drove home.

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I don't know what to do. The phone rings every night now. Same time. Same voice. And every time it asks the same thing.

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"Are you coming?"

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I don't think I can help whoever that is. I think they've been down there a really long time. And I don't think they're alive anymore.

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But the worst part? Sometimes I look at my own phone now. At night. When it's dark and quiet.

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And I see a missed call.

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From myself.

The call came in at 3:19 AM. A woman's voice, breathless. Said someone was in her backyard. Said they'd been standing there for hours. Said they weren't moving.

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I was the officer dispatched. Eight years on the force. I'd seen plenty of weird calls. Drunk neighbors. Sleepwalkers. Teenagers messing around. I figured this was another one.

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The house was on a quiet street. Middle of nowhere. Porch light on. The woman met me at the door. Fifties, shaking, robe pulled tight.

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"Did you see them?" she asked.

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"See who?"

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"The person in my yard. They've been out there since midnight."

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I walked around back. Empty. Just lawn, fence, treeline. No footprints. No disturbed grass. Nothing.

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"There's nobody here," I said.

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"They're there. I can feel them. They're watching me."

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I filed a report and told her to lock her doors. She agreed. Just scared.

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I went back to my patrol car and pulled the security footage. She had cameras. Ring doorbell. Motion sensors in the backyard. I checked the feed from midnight onward.

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There was a figure. Standing in the center of her lawn. Not moving. Not blinking. Facing her house. Facing her bedroom window.

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I recognized the clothes. The uniform. My uniform.

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I watched for three hours. The figure was me. Same height. Same build. Same way I stand when I'm waiting.

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But I was in the car. Watching myself on screen.

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I checked the time stamp. 12:02 AM. I was at the station at 12:02. I was on the radio at 12:02. I was pouring coffee at 12:02. I was not in her backyard.

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I told myself it was a prank. Someone in a replica uniform. Someone who knew me. Someone messing with me.

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I told myself that for three days.

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I kept checking the footage. Every night the figure was there. Standing. Waiting. Watching.

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Then I checked the footage from my own porch camera.

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A figure was standing in my yard. Looking at my house. Looking at my window.

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It looked like my neighbor.

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My neighbor died two years ago. Heart attack. I went to the funeral. I saw the body.

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I called the department. Told them about the footage. They said they'd look into it. They never did. They said I was exhausted. Gave me two weeks off.

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I didn't sleep. I watched the footage.

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I started noticing things.

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The figure in my yard was my neighbor, but his clothes were wrong. A coat I'd never seen him wear. A hat he never owned. The face was right. The body was right. But the details were off.

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I checked the woman's footage again. The figure that looked like me was wearing my uniform. But it was wrong. The badge was on the wrong side. The patch was upside down. The shoes were different.

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I started checking other security feeds. Other houses. Other yards. I found them everywhere.

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Neighbors who'd moved away. Relatives who'd died. Old friends I hadn't seen in years. All standing still. All watching. All just slightly wrong.

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I showed the footage to my partner. He watched in silence. Then he looked at me.

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"That's your ex-wife," he said.

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"It's not her. She lives in another state."

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"It's her face."

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"Her nose is wrong. Her hair is wrong."

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He looked closer. "You're right."

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"She died five years ago."

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He stopped watching after that.

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I kept watching.

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The figures only appeared at night. Only in places where people were alone. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They just watched.

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I found footage of myself. Not from her backyard. From my own camera. From last night.

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I was watching the footage on my phone. The figure in my yard was me. Wearing my clothes. My exact clothes. The same shirt I was wearing right then.

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I looked down. Blue button-up. Checked the footage. Blue button-up.

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I looked at the time stamp. 2:17 AM. Checked my phone. 2:18 AM.

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The figure was me. From a minute ago.

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I looked out my window. It was gone.

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I went back to work. Couldn't stay home. Couldn't stop watching.

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I started finding figures everywhere. Parking lots. Street corners. In windows. Standing still. Watching. Always slightly wrong.

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Last night I woke up at 3 AM. Heard something in my kitchen. Grabbed my gun. Walked in.

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Nobody was there.

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But the cabinets were open. All of them. The same way I open them when I'm looking for something.

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I checked the footage. The figure had been in my kitchen. It opened every cabinet. Every single one. The same way I would.

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Then it looked at the camera. It smiled.

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My face. My smile.

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But the smile was wrong. The teeth were too white. The lips were too wide.

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I called my partner. Told him everything. He said he'd come over.

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He showed up an hour later. We sat in my living room. I showed him the footage.

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He watched it. Then he looked at me.

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"I need to tell you something," he said.

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"What?"

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"I've been seeing them too."

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I stopped breathing.

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"Since when?"

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"Three weeks. Ever since I started working the night shift."

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He pulled out his phone. Showed me footage from his own cameras. A figure stood in his yard. It looked like his mother. His mother died when he was twelve.

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"When did they start?" I asked.

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He paused. "The same night you got the call."

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We sat in silence. The lights flickered. We looked at each other.

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And then we heard it. Knocking on the front door. Slow. Deliberate. Three knocks. A pause. Three more.

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We didn't move.

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The knocking stopped. Then we heard footsteps. Walking away.

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I looked at my partner. He was pale.

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I checked the footage on my phone. Nobody was at the door. But there was a figure standing in the street. It was my partner. Standing perfectly still. Watching us.

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I looked at my partner. He was still sitting on my couch. But his face was wrong. The eyes were wrong.

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"You're not him," I said.

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He smiled. The smile was wrong.

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I grabbed my gun. He stood up. Walked toward the door. Opened it. Walked outside.

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I watched him go.

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I looked at the footage.

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There were two figures now. One in the street. One walking toward it.

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They met in the middle.

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Neither moved. Neither blinked.

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For almost a minute they simply stood facing each other.

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Then one of them turned toward the house. The other one didn't.

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I don't know which one was my partner. I don't know which one came inside.

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But I know one thing. Whoever I called. Whoever showed up. Whoever sat on my couch. Whoever smiled at me. It wasn't him.

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And now there's a figure standing in my yard again. Wearing my clothes. Wearing my face. Standing perfectly still. Waiting.

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I just checked the footage. The figure in my yard is smiling.

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The figure on my couch is gone.

I don't know when I stopped trusting my own mind. Maybe it was the car accident three years ago. Maybe it was the medication I've been taking since. Maybe it was always like this and I just didn't notice.

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My name is Daniel. I have three friends—Alex, Jamie, and Sam. We've known each other since high school. Ten years of friendship. Ten years of pretending we still have our whole lives ahead of us.

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That changed two weeks ago.

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Alex found an old textile mill on the edge of town. Abandoned since the 90s. He wanted to explore it. Ghost hunting. Urban exploring. The usual. Sam didn't want to go. Jamie said it was dangerous. I should have listened. But we went anyway.

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The mill was huge. Red brick. Broken windows. Rusted chain-link fences that had been cut open years ago. The air smelled like rust and damp concrete. Alex was excited. He'd brought a flashlight and a camera. He wanted evidence. Jamie was skeptical. She kept saying things like "structural instability" and "we shouldn't be here." Sam was nervous. He always was.

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And me? I was the one with the broken mind. That's what they called it. Not to my face. But I heard them talking in the car on the way there. "He's been off lately." "Do you think he's taking his medication?" "He hasn't been fine since the accident."

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They were right. I hadn't been fine. But I had been taking my medication. Every day. Every single day.

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We entered through a broken window. Inside, the mill was a maze. Old machinery. Rusted conveyor belts. Piles of rotting fabric. The floor covered in dust and bird droppings. Alex kept taking photos. Jamie kept complaining. Sam kept quiet.

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We walked deeper into the building. The light faded. Alex turned on his flashlight. The beam swept across the walls. And then I saw it. A figure. Standing at the end of the hallway. Tall. Dark. Motionless.

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I stopped walking. "Did you see that?" I asked. "See what?" Alex turned his flashlight toward where I was looking. Nothing. "It's probably just a shadow," Jamie said. "The light plays tricks down here." "Yeah," I said. "Probably." But it wasn't a shadow. I know it wasn't a shadow.

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We kept walking. Alex found a stairwell. Halfway up the stairs, I heard a whisper from somewhere below. "Daniel." I stopped and looked down into the darkness. "Did you hear that?" I asked. "Hear what?" Sam looked back at me. "A voice. Someone said my name." "I didn't hear anything." "Neither did I," Jamie said. "It was probably the wind," Alex called from above. "Come on. We're almost there."

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But I knew what I heard. I know what I heard.

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We climbed to the roof. The view was incredible. The whole town spread out below us. The sun was setting. Orange and pink and purple. And then I saw it again. The figure. Standing on the edge of the roof.

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I stared. Blinked. Stared again. It was still there. "Hey," I said. "Who's that?" "Who's who?" Alex followed my gaze. "That person. On the edge of the roof." "There's nobody there." "There is. Look." "Daniel," Jamie said. "There's nothing there." "I'm looking right at it." "It's probably a trick of the light," Alex said. "You know, like you said earlier."

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I knew what they were thinking. The broken mind. The accident. The things I see that aren't there. "Fine," I said. "You're right. It's nothing." But I kept looking. And the figure kept looking back.

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We left an hour later. Alex was happy with his photos. Jamie was relieved to be leaving. Sam was quiet. And me? I couldn't stop thinking about the figure. I couldn't stop thinking about the whisper. I couldn't stop thinking about what I saw.

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Two weeks later, I'm sitting in my apartment. It's 11 PM. I'm writing this because I don't know what else to do.

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After that day, I started researching the mill. I found old news articles. I found old photographs. I found something I wasn't expecting. A man died there. Thirty years ago. A night shift worker. He was alone. No witnesses. The official report said he fell from the roof. The unofficial report said he was pushed. And the man's name? Daniel. Same as me.

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I showed my friends. They didn't believe me. They said it was a coincidence. They said Daniel is a common name. They said I was seeing things again. They said I needed to take my medication. I told them I had been taking it. Every day. Every single day. They didn't believe me.

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Tonight is Saturday again. It's 11 PM. I'm going back to the mill. I'm going to find the figure. I'm going to find out why it called my name.

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I went back tonight. I drove alone. The parking lot was dark. The mill loomed against the night sky. Broken windows. Rusted chain-link. The same smell of rust and damp concrete. I climbed through the same broken window. I walked through the same hallway. I climbed the same stairs.

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And there it was. The figure. Standing on the edge of the roof. Waiting for me.

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I walked toward it. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. But I kept walking. "Who are you?" I asked. The figure didn't move. "Why did you call my name?" Silence. "Why did you call my name?"

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The figure turned. Slowly. I could see it now. A man. Tall. Thin. Wearing old work clothes. A face I didn't recognize. But eyes I knew. Eyes that looked like mine.

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The figure opened its mouth. And it spoke. "I wasn't warning you." "Then why?" I asked. "Why did you call my name?" The figure paused. Then it smiled. "Because that's my name." It pointed at me. "Daniel." Then it pointed at itself. "Daniel."

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I stopped breathing. "You died," I said. "Thirty years ago. You fell from the roof." The figure nodded. "Yes." "Then why are you here?" The figure looked past me. Toward the parking lot. Toward where my car sat alone in the dark. "Because you saw me." "What?" "Nobody remembered." The figure smiled. "Until you."

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I opened my mouth to respond. But the figure was gone.

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I'm back home now. It's 2 AM. I can see him outside my window. Standing perfectly still. Waiting. I closed the curtains an hour ago. When I checked again, he was still there. Closer.

Tomorrow will be thirty years since he died.

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Tomorrow is also my birthday.

I got my license two months ago and my parents gave me their old Civic. It's not cool or anything but it gets me places. Anyway, I was driving home from my friend Mike's house and it was around 11 PM and I took this back road I always take because it's shorter.

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The road goes through these woods and it's pretty creepy at night but I've done it a hundred times. So I'm driving and I see these headlights behind me. Just two yellow lights. Nothing special. But then I noticed the car wasn't getting closer or farther. It was just staying exactly the same distance. It was so weird.

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I slowed down to 30 and the lights slowed down too. I sped up to 60 and they sped up too. My heart was going crazy. I looked in my rearview mirror and I couldn't see any actual car. Just the lights. Nothing else. Just floating lights.

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OK so this is where it gets really bad. I took this corner really fast and when I looked back the lights were gone. I was so relieved I almost cried. My hands were shaking on the wheel.

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Then I saw this car pulled over on the side of the road. It was an old car from the 70s or something. All rusty and beat up. Smoke was coming out of the hood. I thought maybe someone needs help. But then I realized there were no other cars around and no cops and the car looked like it had been there for years.

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I stopped my car 20 feet away because I was curious. That's when I saw the driver door was open. And there was this arm coming out of it. A pale arm with a sleeve that was all torn and it was pointing at me.

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I screamed so loud. I slammed my foot on the gas and my car screeched and I just floored it. I didn't look back. I was crying and shaking and I just wanted to get home.

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When I finally got to my house I ran inside and locked all the doors. I didn't tell my parents because they'd think I was crazy. I tried to calm down. I was almost asleep when I heard this noise outside. Like an engine idling, kind of rattly.

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I looked out my window and I saw those two yellow lights just sitting there in the dark at the end of my driveway. Waiting.

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I don't know what it wants. I didn't go outside since. It's still there every night. I can see it from my window.

I don't know what to do.

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I think it followed me home.

I started working the night shift at an old factory in 2019. The place shut down in 1991. Nobody ever explained why. Some company still owns the land, and they pay me to walk the perimeter, check the locks on the gates, and sit in the security hut until sunrise. The money is fine.

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The rules aren't written down anywhere. The guy I replaced told them to me on my first night. He made me repeat them back until I got every word right.

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Rule one: Do not go onto the main floor after 2 AM.

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Rule two: If you hear the conveyor belt, count your steps. Keep counting until it stops.

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Rule three: Do not look at the second shadow.

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I laughed when he finished. He didn't.

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For two years I followed the rules and nothing happened. The conveyor belt never moved, the power had been cut decades ago. The second shadow was just a trick of the emergency lights.

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At least that's what I told myself.

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Then they sent me a partner. His name was Ellis. Young guy, quiet, didn't ask many questions. I told him the rules on his first night.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure," he said. "Anything else?"

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"No."

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He looks at me and asks "You actually believe this stuff?"

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"I believe you should follow it." That was the end of the conversation.

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The first week went smoothly. We split the grounds between us. He took the west side, I took the east. Every night before we separated, I'd remind him: don't go onto the main floor after 2 AM. Every night he'd wave me off. Yeah, yeah.

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On the eighth night my watch stopped. I didn't notice until I checked the clock inside the hut.

My watch read 1:47. The wall clock read 2:14. I radioed Ellis. No answer. I tried again. Nothing.

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The west gate was empty. The main floor entrance wasn't. The chain was lying on the ground, the padlock open. I broke rule one. I told myself I was only going in long enough to drag him back out.

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The factory floor stretched into darkness. Moonlight spilled through the high windows.

The conveyor belt was moving. There was no sound, no motors, no grinding gears, but I could feel it through my boots. A slow vibration beneath the concrete, like a heartbeat.

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Ellis stood at the far end of the belt facing the wall. His shoulders shook. I shouted his name. He turned. His face looked normal.

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His shadow didn't.

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It had two heads. I looked down. My own shadow was gone. For a second I couldn't move. Then I grabbed Ellis and ran.

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I counted every step.

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Thirty-one.

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Thirty-two.

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The vibration followed us.

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Thirty-three.

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Thirty-four.

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Thirty-five.

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Thirty-six.

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Thirty-seven.

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The conveyor belt stopped. The silence hit so hard it felt physical. I slammed the door behind us and locked it. Ellis didn't say a word for the rest of the shift.

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The next night he remembered none of it. Not the belt, not the factory floor, not me dragging him outside. But something had changed.

His shadow lagged behind him. Only half a second at most. Enough to notice. Not enough to explain.

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I started noticing other things. The air in the hut tasted different after midnight. Metallic, like old coins. The lights flickered sometimes, but only in my peripheral vision.

When I looked directly at them, they were steady. The floor of the west gate room was always warm, even in winter. No heat source. Just warm.

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After that, the nights stopped behaving properly. Patrols that should take twenty minutes took three hours.

The clocks never agreed. My phone showed different dates depending on which room I checked it in. Sometimes the sun rose too early. Sometimes it didn't rise at all. The sky would just go from black to gray and stay there.

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One night Ellis went to check the west gate alone. He was gone five minutes by his watch.

Seven hours by mine.

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When he came back he was crying. He said he'd walked the same hallway over and over. Every door led back to the same door. The only way out was to count his steps backward. He wouldn't tell me what was in the hallway. He just kept saying "I don't know" Over and over.

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I stopped sleeping. Not because I wasn't tired. Because every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed about the conveyor belt. In the dream it was silent.

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But I could feel it. And my feet were already counting.

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After that, the conveyor belt started moving more often. Sometimes we'd hear it while standing outside.

Sometimes we'd hear it inside the hut. Whenever it started, we'd count. Neither of us questioned it anymore. Especially Ellis.

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He followed the rules perfectly. He never looked at shadows. Never approached the main floor. Never missed a count.

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But his shadow kept growing. Every week it stretched farther. No matter where he stood, it pointed toward the main floor. I stopped looking at my own shadow. I don't know what it's doing anymore.

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I tried leaving.

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I took the company truck and drove down the access road. The road bent left. Then left again. Then left a third time.

I passed the same rusted sign three times.

I stopped the truck and turned around.

The sign was still there, but the words weren't.

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WELCOME BACK.

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The letters looked wet. I drove back. I haven't tried leaving since.

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Now I'm sitting in the security hut writing this.

Ellis sits across from me.

The wall clock says 1:47. It has said 1:47 for three days. Neither of us mentions it. We just repeat the rules over and over. Our voices are hoarse. I can't remember the last time we drank anything.

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A few hours ago, a truck came down the access road. A young guy stepped out. Clipboard, badge, company uniform. He asked if this was the factory.

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Ellis looked at me, then back at him. "Yeah," he said. "You need to listen to the rules."

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The man smiled. "I wrote the rules."

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Then he walked past us toward the main floor. The conveyor belt started moving. I felt it through the floor of the hut.

Ellis's shadow stretched across the room past the door, past the wall, out of sight. The man never looked back. The conveyor belt stopped. The clock still said 1:47.

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Ellis turned toward me. His face was calm.

Too calm.

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"That's the fourth one," he said.

"The first three were me."

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Then he walked after the man. The door shut behind them. The padlock clicked closed on its own. The chain twisted itself into a knot.

I've been trying to undo it ever since. My fingers are bleeding. The knot doesn't change.

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I'm alone now. The rules are still written on the wall. I don't remember writing them, but the handwriting is mine.

There are four rules. I swear there used to be three.

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Rule one: Do not go onto the main floor after 2 AM.

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Rule two: If you hear the conveyor belt, count your steps.

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Rule three: Do not look at the second shadow.

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Rule four:

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When the next one comes, do not speak.

You are the new guy now.

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I just heard the truck engine start outside. Then stop. Then start again. Then stop.

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Footsteps on the gravel.

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Someone is coming up the path.