When I first met Lily, I thought she was perfect—beautiful, smart, and incredibly kind. We clicked instantly. But what she didn’t tell me—at least not right away—was that she had a sister, Emily, who was… different.
The first time I went to Lily’s house, I was excited to meet her family. Lily kept warning me, though, that Emily could be a little strange. “She’s not like other people,” she’d say, and I’d just shrug it off. I mean, how weird could someone really be?
But the moment I stepped into their house, I felt it—the air was thick, heavy, almost oppressive. Emily was sitting in the corner of the living room, her long black hair draped over her face. She didn’t even look up when I walked in. Lily introduced us, but Emily just sat there, her eyes fixed on the floor. No greeting, no smile. Just silence.
Later that night, as we sat down for dinner, Emily suddenly lifted her head and stared straight at me. Her eyes were large, hollow, almost too black to be human. She didn’t blink. Not once. Just sat there, watching me with a crooked smile. Every time I tried to make conversation, she’d giggle—a high-pitched, chilling sound that made my skin crawl.
Things got worse when I stayed over that night. Around 3 AM, I woke up to the sound of whispering. Faint, but there—like someone was standing right outside my door. At first, I thought it was just Lily talking in her sleep. But when I listened more closely, I realized it was Emily. Her voice was soft, yet unsettling, and it was as if she was speaking in a language I’d never heard before.
The door creaked open, and there she stood—Emily, in a long white nightgown, staring at me with those same hollow eyes. She didn’t say a word, just stood there for what felt like hours. Then, without warning, she turned and walked down the hall.
The next morning, I asked Lily about it, but she brushed it off. “Emily’s just sleepwalking. Don’t worry about it.”
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. Over the next few weeks, Emily’s behavior became even stranger. She’d leave cryptic notes around the house, scribbled in a jagged, childlike handwriting. Messages like, “I see you” and “She’s mine.” I found them everywhere—in my coat pocket, inside my shoes, even in my car.
One night, I decided to confront her. I went up to her room, knocked softly, and pushed the door open. The room was pitch black, except for a faint, glowing light coming from under her bed. When I stepped closer, I saw it—a small, worn-out doll with button eyes and a stitched mouth. It looked ancient, like something from a nightmare.
As I reached for it, Emily’s voice echoed from the shadows, “She’s watching you.”
I turned around, but no one was there. I bolted out of the room, heart pounding, and told Lily everything. She didn’t seem surprised. Instead, she just sighed and said, “I should’ve told you earlier. Emily… she’s not really my sister.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
Lily looked at me, her face pale. “She’s something else… something old. She’s been with my family for generations, and she’s not human.”
That was the last time I ever saw Emily—or whatever she really was. I broke things off with Lily the next day. I didn’t stick around to find out more, and to be honest, I don’t want to. But sometimes, late at night, I still hear those whispers… and I wonder if she’s still watching.