Something's wearing my face (I)

Being a teacher isn't what I thought I'd be doing in my late thirties. I had a great life planned for myself, but life had other plans. What I'd give to get a bit of fun back into it.

I sign out at the reception and make my way to the bus stop, completely lost in thought. Rent is due next month, I'm almost out of foodstuff, and I need to pay off my Opay debt before it increases. All of this on a salary of ₦50,000.

I kick off my shoes as soon as I get home and go straight to bed to doom scroll, anything to forget my sorrows. A few minutes pass before a WhatsApp notification comes in. It's from an unknown number, which isn't completely strange, but I have no common ground with this person.

"Did mummy give out my number to some church boy again?" I wonder out loud.

I consider ignoring the message and going back to my mindless scrolling, but curiosity gets to me and I read it.

Just as I'm about to ask who this is, a second message drops in.

Before I can ask who it is, a third message arrives. It's the link. For lack of anything better to do, and considering how broke and desperate I am, I click on it. My browser flags the site as insecure, but I bypass the warning and download the app.

It takes a while to install, because my bad network never fails to frustrate me. When it finally opens, a notification pops up asking for access to some features on my phone. As soon as I grant the permissions, my phone turns off.

"That's weird. I could have sworn I had at least 50%. Has my battery gone bad?" I wonder aloud. Shrugging it off, I decide to go to bed early, seeing as I have nothing else to do.

I wake up earlier than usual with a bad feeling in my gut, like there's someone else in the room with me. I grab my phone from the nightstand and turn it on to use the flashlight, but something feels off. My movements are lagging, as if I'm one second slower than my brain. I chalk it up to having just woken up and waddle to the bathroom, but I can't shake the feeling. I set my phone on the sink, rest my hands on either side of it, and stare at myself in the mirror, the dim bulb giving my reflection an eerie look.

A yawn escapes me, and that's when I notice it. My reflection is slower than I am. Five seconds slower. My heartbeat quickens. I raise my hand and my reflection keeps its arm at its side, watching me. Five seconds later, it lifts its hand, slowly, as if remembering how. I lift my chin and it stares at me blankly. Terror freezes me on the spot, and I can't even scream. My reflection cocks its head and eyes me, as if trying to figure me out. Then it lowers its hand, tilts its chin, and matches me, move for move.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream, and my reflection mimics it. I want to run, I want to grab my phone and smash the mirror, but a notification lights up the screen beside me.

And the bathroom bulb goes out.