Evelyn Roberts had always prided herself on her sharp eye for detail, a skill honed over years of professional photography. While others saw the world in broad strokes, she saw it in individual moments — a flicker of light, the subtle texture of a wall, the quiet elegance of a forgotten object. Her life, much like her art, was orderly, precise, and quiet. But there was something different about tonight, something that left her with an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach.
It had been a long day. A photo shoot at an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of town. The estate had been untouched for decades, its sprawling grounds overtaken by ivy and moss, windows boarded up, doors creaking with the weight of neglect. Evelyn had been hired to photograph the mansion for a local preservation society. The project was routine, though the mansion's eerie atmosphere made her feel slightly uncomfortable.
But that was nothing new. She had explored many old, forgotten places, and it was just part of the job. When the photos were taken, she packed up her camera and returned to her apartment, expecting to have the photos edited and sent off by midnight.
Now, in the quiet of her dimly lit living room, she sat before her laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating her face. A soft hum of the refrigerator in the background was the only sound as Evelyn opened the first of the photos.
The image was exactly what she expected — the mansion's overgrown courtyard, the twisted vines creeping up the walls, the sun setting in the distance casting a soft, golden glow. She scrolled through a few more photos: a close-up of the crumbling stairwell, a broken window with shards of glass scattered on the floor, a portrait of a peeling wallpapered room.
It was all so... ordinary.
But then she reached the final photo. The one she had taken near the mansion's arched doorway, where a lone tree stretched out over a cracked stone path. She had spent some time framing the shot, carefully adjusting the angle to capture the interplay of shadows and light.
As the image loaded on the screen, Evelyn's fingers froze over the mouse.
There, in the background, stood a figure.
At first, she thought it might be a trick of the light, or perhaps a shadow playing tricks with her camera's lens. But no, the figure was solid. A person, tall and thin, draped in a long coat, standing directly beneath the arched doorway. The figure's features were blurred, its face hidden in shadow, but Evelyn could clearly make out the shape — a silhouette of someone standing, motionless, staring directly at her camera.
She blinked and leaned in closer, adjusting the zoom. The figure's outline remained the same, but the more Evelyn stared at it, the more she felt a chill creep up her spine. She hadn't seen anyone else at the mansion when she took the photos. There had been no one else there. The place had been abandoned for years.
Her hand hovered over the mouse, fingers trembling as she scrolled through the other photographs from that shoot, hoping for some explanation. There were no other figures in the frames. No one else in sight. Just the empty walls and the overgrown garden.
It wasn't possible.
Evelyn's heart raced as she leaned back in her chair. She'd been alone. She remembered the air, thick with dust, the creaking floorboards beneath her feet as she moved through the house. No one had been there to interrupt her work.
So who was this person in the photo?
She opened the camera's settings, checked the metadata. It confirmed everything she already knew. The picture was taken exactly where she remembered. No errors in the camera's focus. No odd settings that could explain the strange figure. Just a crisp, clear image — except for the person standing in the doorway.
She swallowed hard. A sudden unease settled over her, a feeling she couldn't shake.
What if the figure wasn't just someone who had wandered into the frame, unnoticed? What if it wasn't even a person at all?
The thought lingered in her mind, unsettling and terrifying in its implications. Was this something she had captured with her camera, or was it something that had been captured through her camera — something that had always been there, just waiting to be seen?
No. It had to be a mistake. A trick of light. A figment of her imagination, enhanced by the dark, eerie surroundings of the mansion. Evelyn pressed her lips together and stood up from the chair, determined to push the thought aside.
But as she walked toward the window and looked out at the city lights twinkling in the distance, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
In the reflection of the glass, she saw it — her own face, pale and tense, staring back at her. And standing just behind her reflection, over her shoulder, was the same figure from the photograph.
The figure was closer now.
And it was staring directly at her.