Benny stared at the phone in his hands like it might disappear if he blinked.
It wasn't new.
It wasn't expensive.
The screen had a faint scratch near the top corner, and the plastic back creaked slightly when he pressed it.
But it was his.
His first phone.
He turned it over again, feeling the weight of it settle into his palm. It felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than just metal and glass.
He didn't care. He'd waited years for this moment.
"You're responsible for it," his father had said earlier, arms crossed, voice firm. "No games all night. No nonsense."
Benny had nodded. He'd promised. He'd agreed to everything.
Because none of that mattered right now.
What mattered was that the phone was finally his.
He spent the rest of the evening doing what anyone would do—setting it up, choosing a wallpaper, downloading the basics. Messaging apps. A browser. The camera. Nothing fancy.
The phone wasn't fast. Apps took a second too long to open. Sometimes the screen froze for half a heartbeat.
Still, Benny smiled every time it vibrated.
By the time night came, his excitement had dulled into a comfortable satisfaction. He plugged the charger in beside his bed, turned off the lights, and lay down with the phone resting against his chest.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The soft hum of the fan filled the darkness, steady and repetitive. Shadows clung to the corners of the ceiling, stretching longer as his eyes adjusted.
Benny scrolled aimlessly, half-asleep.
That was when he noticed it.
An icon he hadn't seen before.
It sat near the bottom of the screen,
unassuming, almost blending in. A black square. A simple camera outline. No color. No name beneath it.
Benny frowned.
"I didn't download this," he muttered.
He tapped and held the icon. The phone buzzed lightly, and the uninstall option appeared.
Good.
He pressed it.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
"What?" He sat up slightly, frowning harder now. "Come on."
He tried deleting it again. And again.
The phone didn't respond.
A flicker of irritation ran through him.
"Okay. Whatever."
Maybe it was some preinstalled system app. Phones had those. He'd heard about it.
Still, something about it bothered him.
The icon hadn't been there earlier.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over it.
Then curiosity won.
He tapped it.
The screen went black.
For a second, Benny thought the phone had shut down.
Then the camera interface appeared.
Not the normal one.
The UI was stripped down, almost empty. No settings. No filters. No familiar buttons. Just a live camera feed and a thin white outline framing the screen.
At the top, a single word appeared:
SPECTRA
Below it, in smaller text:
Camera permission required.
Benny let out a short laugh. "What kind of app is this?"
Before he could react, the message disappeared.
The camera activated.
It wasn't the front camera.
It was the back one.
The screen showed his room—his bed, his desk, his door. Everything exactly as it was.
Too exactly.
Benny slowly turned his head, comparing the real room to the image on the screen.
They matched perfectly.
"Okay," he whispered. "So it's just a camera app."
He lifted the phone and pointed it around, testing it. The feed followed smoothly. No lag. No distortion.
Still, the app felt wrong.
There were no buttons. No way to exit.
He tried swiping down.
Nothing.
He pressed the back button.
Nothing.
A faint chill crept up his spine.
"That's… weird."
He locked the screen.
The display went dark.
Relief washed over him.
But the phone vibrated.
The screen turned back on by itself.
The camera feed was still active.
Benny's heart skipped.
He unlocked the phone again, fingers moving faster now. He tried closing the app.
It didn't respond.
"Okay," he said, forcing a laugh. "That's enough."
He moved to shut the phone off completely.
Before he could, the lights in his room went out.
The fan stopped.
The sudden silence was suffocating.
Benny froze.
"What the hell?"
His phone screen was the only source of light now, casting a pale glow across the bed. The camera feed still showed his room—but it looked darker than before.
Not naturally dark.
Compressed.
Like the shadows were heavier.
Benny's breathing quickened.
"Mom?" he called out.
No response.
He swallowed hard.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Low. Close. Unfamiliar.
"Is someone here?"
Benny's blood ran cold.
The voice didn't come from the phone speaker.
It came from the room.
He screamed.
The sound tore out of his throat—but it felt wrong. Like it vanished the moment it left his mouth.
The voice responded immediately.
"Oh," it said softly. "Someone is here."
Benny scrambled backward, his back hitting the wall.
"Who are you?" he shouted.
The phone vibrated.
The camera feed glitched for a moment.
Then text appeared on the screen.
SPECTRA
Do not be afraid.
That made it worse.
"I didn't do anything!" Benny said, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," the voice said. "You never do."
The shadows in the room seemed to shift, stretching just a little too far.
Benny squeezed his eyes shut.
"Please," he whispered.
The voice was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"I'll leave," it said calmly. "For now."
The pressure in the room eased instantly. The lights flickered—and came back on.
The fan resumed its hum.
Benny gasped, sucking in air like he'd been drowning.
The phone screen went black
The app icon vanished.
Benny sat there, trembling, staring at nothing.
After a long moment, he whispered, "It was just… a glitch."
He lay back down, exhaustion crashing over him.
Just before he closed his eyes, the phone vibrated once.
A final message appeared on the lock screen.
Tomorrow. Same time.