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THE MAN IN THE FAMILY PHOTOS

After his father's funeral, Michael stayed at his childhood home to help his mother clean out the old house.

While sorting through boxes, he found an old family photo album.

The first photograph was from his parents' wedding in 1978.

Michael smiled—until he noticed a strange man standing in the background.

Tall.

Thin.

Wearing a black suit.

He assumed it was a distant relative.

Then he turned the page.

A photograph from 1985.

The same man.

Another from 1992.

The same man.

Another from Michael's childhood.

The man was standing behind him.

Michael's smile disappeared.

He carried the album downstairs.

“Mom, who is this?”

His mother looked at the photograph.

Her face immediately went pale.

“Put that away.”

“Who is he?”

“I don't know.”

“You've seen him before.”

She shook her head.

The Woman Who Lived in My House

“Your father told me never to talk about him.”

Michael opened another photograph.

It showed his father's funeral.

The photograph had been taken three days earlier.

The same man was standing at the back of the church.

Michael stared at his mother.

“How is that possible?”

She didn't answer.

Instead, she whispered:

“Your father spent years trying to find out.”

“What did he discover?”

His mother looked toward the hallway.

“He discovered that the man appears in photographs before people disappear.”

Michael laughed nervously.

“Disappear?”

His mother nodded.

“Some died. Some vanished. Some were never found.”

Michael looked back at the album.

The man's position had changed.

In the oldest photographs, he was far away.

Then closer.

Then closer.

Until, in the most recent photograph, he was standing directly behind Michael.

Michael suddenly felt a hand touch his shoulder.

He froze.

His mother whispered:

“Don't turn around.”

Michael's phone suddenly flashed.

CLICK.

A photograph had been taken.

He looked at the screen.

It showed himself and his mother standing in the room.

And directly behind Michael stood the mysterious man.

Except this time, he wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at Michael.

Then another photograph appeared.

No one had taken it.

It showed Michael sleeping.

The timestamp read:

TOMORROW — 3:17 AM.

Michael looked at his mother.

She was crying.

“It's too late,” she whispered.

“What is?”

She pointed toward the photograph.

“He's already inside the house.”