The Hallway’s Empty Turn

My name is Lena, and I’m fifteen now, but this happened when I was fourteen, back in the dead of winter last year. I know I wasn’t dreaming or losing my mind. It was a Tuesday night, around eleven, and I was in our cramped living room in the Badger Flats apartment complex. Everyone else had gone to bed early because of the snowstorm that had been howling all evening. I was the only one up, as usual. I had my laptop propped on the armrest, watching a documentary about a missing hiker, and my phone was buzzing with texts from my friend Zoe and my then-boyfriend Marcus.

Suddenly, I saw my stepdad, Paul, walking down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I found it bizarre because he always crashed by nine, given his early shift at the grain elevator. I called out, ‘Hey, Paul, you okay?’ but he didn’t respond. That was odd because he’s usually quick to answer. He just kept walking, his gait stiff and deliberate, and turned left into the kitchen. I waited a moment, then got up to ask if he needed anything. But when I stepped into the kitchen, it was empty. The only light was the pale glow from the stove, and the window above the sink showed nothing but swirling white. I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding. I hadn’t seen him leave; there was no way he could have slipped past me without turning around. I called his name again, louder, but only the hum of the fridge answered.

I walked back to the hallway, my footsteps creaking on the old floorboards. The hallway felt darker than before, the shadows pooling at the edges. I checked our bedroom door: it was closed. I knocked, and Paul’s voice, gruff and tired, came from inside, ‘What is it, Lena?’ I opened the door slightly and saw him lying in bed, the covers pulled up to his chin, his eyes half-closed. I stammered something about seeing him in the kitchen, but he just grunted, ‘Must have been a dream, kid.’ I closed the door, my skin crawling. I knew what I saw.

The next morning, I tried to tell my mom, but she dismissed it, saying I was probably half-asleep. But I wasn’t. I started paying attention to Paul’s movements, and I noticed he had a habit of pausing at the end of the hallway, staring at the blank wall as if something was written there. He’d shake his head and go on. A week later, I was in my room, reading, when I heard the floorboards in the hallway creak. I looked out, and there he was again, walking toward the kitchen, his back to me. I called out, but he didn’t stop. I followed, my legs trembling. This time, in the kitchen, I saw him standing by the window, not moving, just staring out into the black. I said, ‘Paul?’ and he slowly turned. Only it wasn’t Paul. The face was his, but the eyes were pitch black, like the empty sockets of a skull. I screamed, and he vanished.

I ran to my mom, babbling, but she just looked at me with tired eyes and said I needed to lay off the horror movies. But I knew this was real. I started doing research online, late at night, when the house was quiet. I found articles about a phenomenon called ‘the mimic,’ where something in the environment copies a person to lure the unsuspecting. It said such entities feed on fear and often appear in times of stress or change. Our family was going through a lot: my mom had lost her job, and Paul was working double shifts. Maybe that’s why it came.

A few weeks later, I was home alone on a Saturday, doing homework at the kitchen table. The apartment was silent, save for the click of the wall clock. Then, I heard the front door unlock, and Paul walked in, stamping snow off his boots. But I saw him just an hour ago, leaving for the supermarket. He didn’t have any bags, just a strange smile. He called out, ‘Lena, I’m back,’ and went to the hallway. I followed, because something felt off. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I waited, but he didn’t come out. I knocked. No answer. I turned the knob, and the bathroom was empty. The shower curtain was drawn, and I could see the shape of someone behind it. My breath caught. That’s when I heard Paul’s voice from behind me, ‘What are you doing?’ I spun around, and Paul was standing there, wet from the shower, a towel around his waist. I looked back at the curtain, but it was now open, showing nothing.

I broke down, sobbing, and Paul held me. He told me he’d seen something too, a few days ago, but he didn’t want to scare me. He said he saw a double of himself in the hallway mirror, grinning, and when he blinked, it was alone. We decided to leave the apartment, to stay with my grandma in another town for a while. But as we packed that night, I saw out of the corner of my eye, in the hallway, a silhouette that looked like Paul, and it was pointing at me with a long, crooked finger. I turned, but it was gone. I didn’t sleep that night, and neither did the thing that wore Paul’s face, because I could feel its gaze on me from the darkness of the hallway, waiting for the next time I was alone, ready to walk out and pretend to be him, and this time, it might not let me question my sanity. It would just close the door.