In a quiet, dimly lit kitchen, Sarah was chopping vegetables, while her husband, Mike, sat at the counter scrolling on his phone. The only sounds were the knife hitting the cutting board and the occasional faint ding from Mike’s screen.

“Mike,” Sarah said, not looking up, “can you put your phone down and help?”

He barely glanced up. “Just one second, babe. You wouldn’t believe what’s trending right now.”

Sarah clenched her jaw, chopping a bit faster. She felt a strange chill. “Mike, seriously,” she said, her voice a bit sharper. “I asked you twice now.”

Mike finally looked up and noticed the tension in her face. “Alright, alright, I’m here. What do you need?”

Sarah handed him the knife, her gaze steady. “I need you to finish chopping these while I check something in the living room.”

Mike took the knife, sensing the seriousness in her tone. As Sarah walked away, he glanced down at the counter. There, under the chopping board, was a small note in Sarah’s handwriting: *He’s watching. Don’t let him know you saw this.*

Mike’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the darkened windows, wondering who might be watching from the other side.

His hand shook as he typed a quick response: “Who are you?”

The woman in the doorway tilted her head, her smile deepening. “I’m the one who’s been watching you.”

Mike froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at her, the room suddenly feeling colder, the air thick with dread. The phone buzzed again. It was another message from Sarah: “The real Sarah is still in the living room.”

Mike’s blood ran cold as the realization struck him. There had been no one in the kitchen when Sarah left. The woman standing in front of him wasn’t his wife. His mind raced, his breath shallow. He glanced quickly to the living room door, his gut telling him to run, but his feet were frozen.

The figure in the doorway slowly stepped forward, her movements unnaturally smooth, her smile never wavering. She flickered—just for a second—and Mike’s blood ran even colder. He took a step back, his eyes wide with terror.

“You’re… you’re a ghost,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

The ghost’s eyes darkened, hollow, as if the life had been drained from them long ago. “I’ve been watching you,” she echoed, her voice an eerie, distant whisper, like a memory caught in a nightmare. “You should have never come here.”

Mike’s phone buzzed again. It was Sarah’s voice on the screen this time, but the words sent a shiver down his spine: “I’m not alone in here. Don’t trust her, Mike.”

His legs shook as he backed into the counter, his heart racing. The woman smiled again, this time showing teeth that were far too sharp. “There’s no escape now,” she said, her voice like a hiss, as she stepped closer.

Mike’s eyes darted to the window, desperate to see any sign of safety, but there was nothing—just the pitch-black night. He reached for his phone one last time to text Sarah, but the screen went dark.

The room grew colder, the shadows in the corners seeming to grow darker, deeper.

And then, in a breathless instant, the ghost lunged. Mike didn’t scream. There was no time. Only the feeling of a cold hand on his shoulder and the suffocating darkness that swallowed him whole.