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Julian felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. He zoomed in. In the gap of the doorway, he could just make out the pale edge of a hand gripping the wood. It was thin, with elongated fingers that looked more like wax than flesh.

Every time Julian tried to delete it, his computer would freeze. If he renamed it, it would revert back to "unnamed.jpg" by the next morning. It was a digital ghost, a stubborn glitch in his otherwise organized life. Eventually, he stopped trying to get rid of it and simply tucked it into a corner of his screen, hidden behind the trash bin icon. unnamed.jpg

But that night, he dreamt of the hallway. He could smell the dust and the faint, sweet scent of rotting apples. He heard the floorboards groan under a weight that wasn't his own. When he woke up, drenched in sweat, he reached for his phone. Julian felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck

If you enjoyed this, I can pivot the story into a different genre: A mystery about a corrupted space station log. A whimsical tale of a forgotten memory regained. A noir detective story involving a missing photographer. Which direction It was thin, with elongated fingers that looked

His computer chimed from the desk. A new file had appeared on the desktop: .

He declined it. It popped up again. And again. The screen became a flickering strobe light of requests. In a fit of panic, Julian threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and landed face-up.

The screen was cracked, but the image was clear. It wasn't the hallway anymore. It was a photo of Julian’s bedroom, taken from the corner of his ceiling. In the bed, Julian lay asleep. Beside him, sitting on the edge of the mattress, was a figure with no face—just a smooth, blank surface where features should be.