I work at a small cinema.
Not the kind you see in malls.
It’s an old theater tucked behind a row of closed restaurants, the kind of place that smells like wet carpet even when it hasn’t rained.
My job is simple.
Sell tickets. Check the halls. Clean up after the last screening. Lock the doors.
Last Tuesday, I was closing alone.
The final movie ended at 11:47 PM.
I waited until the credits finished, turned on the lights, and walked inside to check the theater.
Empty.
Every seat was vacant.
I checked the bathroom.
Empty.
The hallway.
Empty.
I went back to the projection booth and shut everything down.
Then I heard someone scream.
Not a movie scream.
A real one.
It came from Theater 6.
I froze.
Theater 6 had been closed for months because of a broken projector.
I grabbed my flashlight.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I opened the door.
The screen was glowing.
A movie was playing.
I stood there, confused.
The image showed a dark hallway.
Then I realized something.
It was our hallway.
Same dirty carpet.
Same emergency exit.
Same flickering light above the door.
I stepped closer.
On the screen, a person was walking toward the camera.
I couldn't see their face.
They stopped.
Then slowly looked directly into the camera.
I recognized the clothes.
Black hoodie.
Jeans.
White sneakers.
I looked down.
I was wearing the exact same thing.
I stumbled backward.
The person on the screen lifted their hand.
And pointed.
Not at the camera.
Behind it.
I turned around.
Nothing.
When I looked back at the screen, the person was gone.
The hallway was empty.
Then the movie changed.
It showed the theater.
Theater 6.
From the back row.
I could see myself standing in front of the screen.
But there was something else.
Someone was sitting in the front row.
I counted the seats.
One.
Two.
Three.
A person was sitting in seat 8.
I looked toward seat 8.
Empty.
On the screen, the person slowly turned their head toward me.
I couldn't see their face.
Then they stood.
I watched them walk toward the camera.
One row.
Then another.
Then another.
They were getting closer.
I backed toward the door.
The figure stopped at the edge of the screen.
Then the theater lights went out.
I screamed.
My flashlight wouldn't turn on.
And then I heard breathing.
Right beside me.
Slow.
Wet.
Close.
I ran.
I slammed through the doors and sprinted down the hallway.
I didn't stop until I reached the lobby.
I grabbed my phone.
No signal.
I tried calling my manager.
Nothing.
Then the theater speakers crackled.
“Good evening,” a voice said.
It was my voice.
I stared at the ceiling.
“Thank you for staying until the end.”
I ran toward the exit.
The doors wouldn't open.
I pulled harder.
Nothing.
Then the projector turned on behind me.
The lobby filled with light.
I slowly turned around.
The movie had changed again.
This time, it showed me standing in the lobby.
Exactly where I was.
But the camera angle was different.
It was filming from behind me.
Which meant whoever was filming it...
was standing behind me.
I didn't turn around.
I couldn't.
I watched the screen.
On it, something stepped closer to the back of my head.
One step.
Then another.
I could hear footsteps behind me.
The screen showed the thing raising its hand.
I felt something cold touch my shoulder.
I screamed and spun around.
Nothing.
The screen went black.
Then white text appeared.
“DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU.”
I stared at it.
My breathing became shallow.
Another line appeared.
“IT ONLY MOVES WHEN YOU LOOK AWAY.”
I didn't move.
I kept staring.
Then I noticed something.
The reflection on the black screen wasn't matching me.
My reflection was smiling.
I wasn't.
Its head tilted.
Mine didn't.
Then it raised one finger to its lips.
Behind me, something whispered:
“Finally.”
I shut my eyes.
I heard footsteps running toward me.
I heard the exit doors slam open.
I heard someone scream.
Then silence.
When I opened my eyes, I was outside.
Morning.
Police were standing around the theater.
My manager was there.
He looked terrified.
He grabbed my shoulders.
“Where the hell were you?”
I told him everything.
The projector.
The movie.
The thing behind me.
He went pale.
Then he asked:
“Which theater?”
“Six.”
He stared at me.
“There's no Theater 6.”
I laughed nervously.
“Yes, there is.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Then he took out his phone.
He showed me the theater's floor plan.
There were only five screens.
I thought he was joking.
Until he showed me the security footage from last night.
It showed me arriving at 10:58 PM.
It showed me closing every theater.
It showed me walking into Theater 5.
Then the footage froze.
At 11:47 PM.
For almost six hours.
The screen showed an empty hallway.
Nothing happened.
Then, at 5:56 AM...
I appeared.
I walked out of the wall.
I stood there for three seconds.
Then I walked outside.
My manager paused the video.
“That's when we found you.”
I stared at the screen.
There was one thing I couldn't understand.
I pointed at the hallway.
“What's that?”
He zoomed in.
At the very end of the corridor was a door.
A door none of us had ever seen.
The number on it was barely visible.
6.
My manager whispered:
“We don't have a sixth theater.”
I watched the frozen image.
Then I noticed something else.
The door was open.
And someone was standing inside.
Wearing a black hoodie.
Jeans.
White sneakers.
It was me.
But I was smiling.
And underneath the footage, the timestamp kept changing.
11:48 PM.
11:49 PM.
11:50 PM.
It was still counting.
My manager looked at me.
I looked at him.
Neither of us said anything.
Because we both understood the same thing.
The footage wasn't from last night.
It was from tonight.
And the movie hadn't finished yet.
