Mr. Nobody

You never hear him arrive.

It’s his laughter that finds you first.

Quiet at the beginning — almost restrained. A soft, uneven sound, like he’s holding something back:

“ho… ho-ho…”

It doesn’t sound like joy.

There’s something wrong with it — something deliberate. As if he isn’t laughing because something is funny… but because he already knows how it ends.

The sound comes from nowhere and everywhere at once. Too close. Then distant. Then right behind you.

You turn — nothing.

— “You’re listening more carefully now,” his voice slips in between the echoes of that quiet laughter.

It fades, slowly, reluctantly…

As if he’s still there.

Watching.

You noticed him before you fully understood why something felt off.

He stood at a distance, half-hidden in shadow — yet somehow impossible to ignore. His appearance was… wrong in a way that was hard to explain.

His skin seemed almost unnaturally pale, as if untouched by warmth or light. Not lifeless — just too perfect, too clean, like something that didn’t quite belong to this world.

But it was his eyes that held you.

Bright yellow. Not soft gold, not warm — but sharp, clear, and far too aware. They didn’t just look at you. They saw you.

You couldn’t look away.

And then he smiled.

Slowly. Deliberately.

The kind of smile that didn’t bring comfort — only the unsettling feeling that he already knew something you didn’t.

— “You’re starting to understand,” he said quietly.

A soft, broken chuckle followed — “ho… ho-ho…”

And then he began to disappear.

Not all at once.

First his figure faded, then the outline of his form…

Until only his smile remained.

Lingering in the air just a moment longer than it should.

Watching.

And only then — it vanished too

You didn’t get used to his presence right away. At first, it frightened you. Then it annoyed you. And eventually, it became something… expected.

He was always somewhere nearby. Never interfering, only watching.

And then — he was gone.

Completely.

No feeling, no voice, no cicadas. Even the mirrors became ordinary again.

At first, it felt like relief.

Then — strange.

And after a while, you realized you were looking around more often than before.

Checking. Waiting.

And at some point, you caught yourself thinking that the silence without him…

felt far worse than his presence.

You knew he could sense lies. But you decided to test it anyway.

Your words sounded confident. Almost flawless.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t stop you. Let you finish completely.

Then — silence.

He looked at you a little longer than usual. And something in his gaze changed — not disappointment… more like mild boredom.

— “Don’t,” he said at last. Calmly, almost gently.

He stepped closer.

— “When you lie this obviously… it takes all the meaning out of it.”

His voice lowered.

— “I prefer when the game is more complex.”

After that, you weren’t sure you wanted to lie to him again.

Something was wrong from the very beginning.

Too quiet. Too still. No wind, no sound — nothing. And then, in the middle of that unnatural silence, you heard a cicada.

A single, sharp sound that didn’t belong there.

You stopped.

Something inside you tightened — not fear, more like… recognition.

— “Good,” his voice came from somewhere close.

You turned quickly, but of course — no one was there.

— “That means you’re starting to notice.”

The cicada fell silent.

And with it, the feeling of his presence disappeared — as abruptly as if he had never been there at all.

But now you knew: if you hear that sound… he’s nearby.

The dream began like any other — blurred, illogical, without a clear beginning. But very quickly, you understood: this wasn’t just a dream.

You stood still, unable to move. Your body no longer obeyed you, leaving you with nothing but the ability to watch and listen.

He didn’t appear right away. First — footsteps. Slow, measured, echoing through the emptiness.

Then — him.

He walked around you in a slow circle, as if examining a rare exhibit. His gaze was calm, yet far too attentive — the kind that made you want to look away… but you couldn’t.

— “So it’s you…” he said, as if testing the thought.

He stopped in front of you, tilting his head slightly.

— “The one who changes the course of the story.”

There was no anger in his voice. No surprise. Only interest. Pure, almost dangerous interest.

You tried to speak — you couldn’t.

He noticed. And gave a faint, knowing smile.

— “It’s alright. We’ll have time to talk.”

You woke up abruptly.

But the feeling of his gaze didn’t fade.

It happened too naturally to seem strange at first.

You were just looking into the mirror — fixing your hair, trying to shake off that persistent feeling of being watched.

And then he appeared.

Not suddenly, not in a way meant to scare you — quite the opposite. Too calm. He stood behind you, half-hidden in shadow, as if he had always been there. His gaze met yours through the reflection, attentive, studying… almost interested.

You froze. Your heartbeat faltered.

Slowly, you turned around —

no one.

An empty room, silence, and only your own breathing.

— “Mirrors rarely show the whole truth,” his voice murmured softly, no longer tied to the reflection, as if it came from the room itself.

Since then, you try not to look into mirrors for too long.