I never believed in ghosts. Not really. I mean, sure, I’ve faked a jump scare or two for views—everyone does. But this… this is different.

It started with the whispers. Faint, like someone breathing into a microphone three rooms away. Then the reflections—figures moving behind me when I was alone. My viewers noticed first. 'Who’s that in the mirror?' 'Why is your door opening by itself?' I laughed it off. Glitches. Wind. Whatever.

But now, sitting in the master bedroom with my camera rolling, I see it again. In the black screen of my laptop—my own face, pale and wide-eyed… and behind me, something darker, leaning close.

The audio cuts in. A child’s voice, singing a lullaby I haven’t heard since my mother died.

My hands shake. The chat is exploding: 'RUN' 'IT’S BEHIND YOU' 'TURN AROUND'

I don’t want to. But I have to.

The camera light blinks red. Still live.

I whisper into the mic, 'What do you want from me?'