I was broke, bored, and bingeing true-crime vids when the ping hit. New friend request: @lilac_07. No mutuals, no bio, just a selfie. Thing is, the girl in the pic could’ve been my twin if somebody had sucked the life outta her—same crooked nose, same freckle under the eye, but skin the color of old candle wax.

I laughed, screenshotted it, DM’d my roommate: “Look, my goth clone lol.” I hit Accept cos why not, it’s three in the morning and the apartment smells like ramen and loneliness.

Instant message pops up: “don’t look outside.”

Yeah right. I yank the curtain anyway. Across the alley, the windows are all dark except one. A phone glows there, lighting a face—my face, but the eyes are black holes. She waves, slow like she’s underwater. My stomach falls through the floor.

I slam the curtain, heart drumming. Another ping: “you looked.”

I unfriend, block, report. Instagram says the account never existed. Classic glitch, I tell myself, must be some AR prank. I pour cereal, spill milk everywhere cos my hands won’t stop shaking.

Next morning my reflection’s off. The freckle’s gone. I lean in; mirror me smirks a second too late, like she’s catching up. I blink hard, she blinks soft. I raise my right hand, she raises left. Cold runs down my spine like melting ice.

I google doppelgänger omens, find a Reddit thread that says if your double friended you online, you got seven days before it switches places. Top comment: “Day eight, my mom called the cops cos I was already downstairs eating waffles. They arrested the waffle one—still don’t know which was me.”

I laugh-cry, then count: request came Tuesday, so deadline’s Tuesday. Five days to figure it out.

I try the usual sage crap, playlist of Tibetan bowls, salt across the windowsill. Doesn’t feel spooky enough, so I livestream the whole thing cos if I die at least I’ll go viral. Viewers spam “queen of horror” emojis; one guy keeps tipping $6.66. Nice touch.

Night four, the livestream glitches. Chat freezes on one line repeated: “she’s behind the phone.” I flip the cam; nobody there. But the view counter shows an extra viewer: @lilac_07. She hearts every message I send to myself.

I DM her: “what do u want?” She replies with a voice note. My own voice, raspier: “Trade. You’re tired anyway.” I play it backwards; it says the same thing. Clever witch.

I remember Grandma saying mirrors are just doors nobody bothers to lock. So I grab a Sharpie, write on the glass: “NO SWAP, SRY.” Mirror me stares, then scribbles something back—in reverse letters so I can read it from my side: “TOO LATE, SRY BACK.”

I panic-post on the campus subreddit: “Anyone got a ghost hacker problem?” One reply: “Meet at library basement, 2 A.M. Bring something that proves you’re alive—like heartbeat audio.” Upvotes: 404. Cute.

I go, cos where else? Basement smells like wet photocopies. A dude in a hoodie waits, face lit blue by vending machine. He doesn’t give his name, just plugs a USB into my phone, runs a script titled “ghostblock.exe.” Says it’ll copy my metadata, feed the double junk data till she’s too bloated to climb through.

We wait. My screen flickers, shows two battery icons fighting. Hoodie guy whispers, “She’s uploading herself into you, but the script’s stuffing her with every spam newsletter since 1998.” My phone heats up, buzzes like a hive. Suddenly the second battery vanishes; the air smells like burnt hair. Guy ejects USB, hands it back. “Block complete. That’ll be seven bucks.” I pay in quarters.

I race home, check the mirror. Freckle’s back, sync perfect. I breathe again. Tuesday rolls around; nothing happens. I even eat waffles just to flex.

Two weeks later I get a new request: @hoodie_07. Profile pic: the guy from the basement, but his eyes are black holes. Message: “don’t look outside.”

I live on the twelfth floor now, no windows, no mirrors, just blank walls and a router I unplugged ages ago. Still, every night at 3:07 my phone lights up by itself, screen cracked in the shape of a freckle. I chuck it across the room, but the friend request sound keeps dinging, softer each time, like it’s coming from inside my head.

So hey, if you get a request from @lilac_07, or maybe @you_07, just do me a favor—leave me on read.