Echoes of the Unseen: A True Haunting Game - An Original Short Story by Josh
I’d been waiting months to play Echoes of the Unseen. Working minimum wage at that out‑of‑town gas station—the one people only visit when they don’t want to be seen—meant saving up took forever. But tonight was finally the night.
When I got home around 6 p.m., the sky was dimming into that bluish dusk. Thai night—my favorite. I grabbed my plate, headed to my room, and prepared for an all‑nighter. I was buzzing with excitement as I pulled up the game’s strange website, plastered with pentagrams and occult symbols. The warnings were dramatic—too dramatic. “Terrifying for believers,” “Play to understand,” “You must accept the terms.” Yeah, yeah. I didn’t bother reading them. I just clicked Accept and dove in.
Fifteen gigs. Quick download.
The start menu almost made me laugh—because the room on screen looked exactly like mine. Same desk, same posters, same clutter. I told myself it was just AI photogrammetry or something, but still… uncanny.
When the character creator asked me to take a picture for “full immersion,” of course I said yes. I turned on my webcam—and immediately jerked back. There was a shadow in the corner of my room. Tall. Still. Watching.
I spun around. Nothing but moonlit darkness.
Maybe I was imagining things. My room did feel colder, though. I thought it had been 70 degrees when I walked in…
I pushed the thought aside and started the game. The camera zoomed into a house—my house. Same driveway. Same cars. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t just “similar.” It was perfect. Exact.
My character began in a room with someone sitting at a computer. Behind them: a tall, shadowy figure. My stomach clenched. I’d seen that shape before. Minutes ago. In my own room.
I exhaled and saw my breath fog in the air—both in the game and in real life. A prickling chill ran down my arms. I put on noise‑canceling headphones, trying to drown out the faint footsteps I thought I heard in the hallway. Probably just my parents.
I checked the clock. Two hours had passed.
No way. I’d been sitting for maybe fifteen minutes.
Trying to focus, I grabbed the usual ghost‑hunting gear in the game: video camera, EMF reader, regular camera. Each room was a perfect recreation of my house, down to the furniture placement. And that shadow—it followed me through the rooms. Always just behind. Always watching.
When I finally checked the in‑game clock again, it read five hours. Impossible. My skin crawled.
I decided to stop. Enough was enough. But the game told me I had to return to the starting room to save. Fine. Whatever. I just wanted out.
When I entered the room, the shadow figure stood there—sitting at the computer, facing me.
I ripped off my headset, but the feeling didn’t leave. Someone was behind me. Close enough for me to feel cold breath on the back of my neck.
I turned my webcam back on.
It was behind me.
Eight feet tall, its hands lifting, settling on my shoulders. Ice seeped through my skin as it whispered:
“You are mine now…”
I bolted. I sprinted downstairs—but the whole house was empty. Not “everyone left” empty. Wrong empty. Silent. Still. The crucifix on the wall hung upside down.
Heart pounding, I rushed to my parents’ room. They were asleep—peaceful. Too peaceful.
I slammed the door open. A picture frame fell and shattered, but they didn’t even flinch. When they finally stirred, they sat up, confused.
“Why did that picture fall?”
I answered—I know I did. But they didn’t hear me. Didn’t see me.
They walked right past me. No—through me.
My parents opened my bedroom door and called my name, but I was standing right behind them. Or… what was left of me was.
On the monitor, the symbols from the warning page shifted into words I could suddenly understand.
My parents panicked, saying they needed to call the police—that I was missing.
I stepped closer to the screen as the message finished translating.
“Thank you for becoming part of our game.”
It’s been 10 years I think since I played the game, my parents never found me, and I think the police have stopped looking for me at this point as well. I really wish I never had played that game.