Matt

I'd wake up before they burned completely, heart pounding, the smell of smoke in my nose.

I told myself it was just my brain processing trauma.

Then one night, I woke up at 3 in the morning to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand.

I grabbed it automatically, expecting a spam call or some glitch.

No call, no notification.

The screen though was on, and the camera app was open.

The front-facing camera pointed at me.

For a second I thought I'd somehow turned it on in my sleep.

Then I saw the thumbnail gallery at the bottom.

There were twelve photos.

All of me.

Sleeping.

Different positions, different angles.

The lighting changed slightly in each one, like they'd been taken over the course of hours.

In one, my mouth was half open, a line of drool on the pillow.

In another, my arm was flung above my head.

In every single photo, hovering in the darkest corner of my room, was a tall thin shape.

Its eyes reflected the phone's screen light, twin pale orbs.

The timestamp on the first photo was 12.17 a.m.

The timestamp on the last was 3.02 a.m.