Under the Cyber-Skin

It started on a rainy Tuesday, the kind of day where the world felt like a blurry reflection in a puddle. My phone buzzed with an alert that seemed innocuous enough: “Introducing Cyber-Skin! Explore the lives of your friends like never before.” My friend Chloe had shared it on social media, and everyone was buzzing. Intrigued, I decided to give it a shot.

At first, it was just harmless fun. The app scanned my face and created a lifelike avatar, one that walked, talked, and behaved like me. I could customize its outfits, change its hairstyle, and even tweak its personality traits. I loved it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be their own perfect version?

But soon, I discovered the app’s true feature: it could also “link” to other people’s Cyber-Skins. You could see their lives play out in real-time—everything from their morning routines to the secrets they kept hidden behind closed doors. I felt like a digital voyeur. The first time I peered into Chloe’s Cyber-Skin, I was entranced. She was living her best life: cooking gourmet meals, laughing with friends, and even attending parties I hadn’t been invited to. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but mostly I was fascinated.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I began peeking into the lives of others: Mark, my crush, was a romantic with a passion for poetry. Sarah, the shy girl from math class, was a rock star on stage with an adoring crowd. Each link revealed tantalizing glimpses of their lives, like watching a reality show where I held all the remote controls.

But then, it happened. I linked to my neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, a quiet woman who kept to herself. She had lived next door for years, and I had never exchanged more than a polite nod with her. I expected a mundane life—gardening, knitting, the occasional visit from her daughter. Instead, what I found chilled me to the bone.

Through the Cyber-Skin, I witnessed late-night rituals, eerie whispers echoing through her dimly lit house. Shadows danced along her walls as she spoke in a language I didn’t recognize. My heart raced as I watched her collect items from her late husband’s belongings—his watch, his old baseball glove, a small silver key that glimmered ominously. I felt like I was intruding on something sacred, something terrifying.

The following day, I could hardly focus in school. I rushed home, my mind racing with the images from her Cyber-Skin. I had to confront her, had to know what those rituals were about. What was she doing in there?

When I arrived home, my phone buzzed again. “New Link Available!” it chimed, and a wave of unease washed over me. I opened the app, half-expecting to see Mrs. Thompson again. Instead, it was my own Cyber-Skin staring back at me, but it looked different—darker, with shadows lurking in the corners.

I clicked to view it, and my heart plummeted. I saw myself in my bedroom, but I was dressed in Mrs. Thompson's clothes, my hair styled in her peculiar way. I was chanting, my voice low and foreign, repeating phrases I had never heard. I saw my real self in the background, watching in horror, paralyzed by disbelief.

No! This can’t be happening. I thought frantically, frantically trying to exit the app, but my fingers wouldn’t respond. I was trapped, caught in a loop of my own making. My avatar continued to perform the bizarre ritual, and I was powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the video feed cut out, and a message flashed across my screen: “You’ve unlocked the ultimate experience! Embrace the skin of another!” The realization hit me like ice water. The app wasn’t just a game; it was a gateway.

I stumbled backward, finally breaking free from the screen. The buzzing in my head was unbearable. I looked around my room, desperate to escape what was happening. But even as I tore my eyes from my phone, I felt a strange pull, like fingers reaching out from the depths of my consciousness.

I blinked and saw the outline of Mrs. Thompson’s shadow behind my bedroom door. The whispers grew louder, calling me, beckoning me to join her. The last thing I remember was my phone dropping to the floor, its screen shattered, the last flicker of light revealing a dark figure that mirrored my own.

Then, silence.

When I finally came to, I was alone in my room, the sun filtering through the curtains. My phone lay still, the app deleted, but a sense of dread settled over me. I glanced at the mirror, expecting to see myself, but there was something off. The reflection smiled back, and I realized with a sickening jolt that the eyes staring back at me were not my own.

I was in her skin now, and Mrs. Thompson was free. The life I once knew flickered away like an old film reel, leaving only shadows and whispers behind.