I met Ryan last summer online, just a few months after a brutal breakup. I told myself I was ready to move on, that whatever I had felt before was already dead. I made an account on a dating site and within twenty minutes I found him. From the very first conversation something clicked. He was funny, easy to talk to, and lived in the same city. We talked for hours, sometimes until sunrise. It felt natural, almost too perfect. There was only one thing that bothered me. His profile picture.

It showed a pale, unnatural face. Completely black eyes, something dark leaking from them. The skin looked cracked, like dried earth. The lips were torn back, exposing sharp, grey teeth. It looked wrong in a way I couldn’t explain. Ryan loved horror, so I told myself it was just that. Just an image. Still, something about it felt too real. Whenever I looked at it, I felt this quiet, creeping fear. Like something was watching me back. I ignored it.

After two weeks I asked him for a real photo. He said he already had one. I thought he was joking. Then he sent me another image. The same face. Just from a different angle. I laughed it off, thinking he was messing with me. He acted confused, like he didn’t understand what I meant. We dropped the topic. I didn’t push.

Two weeks later we met in person. I was nervous, but when I saw him, all of that disappeared. He was tall, attractive, completely normal. We sat down, talked, laughed. Then I asked him why he wouldn’t show me his face before. He looked at me like I was the one joking. He showed me our conversation. The photo he sent wasn’t that thing. It was him. Same with his profile picture. Just normal photos. I checked my phone. Same thing. The images had changed.

I didn’t say anything. I just left. Deleted my account. Cut all contact. I told myself I imagined it. That I was losing my mind. I never told anyone. No one would believe me anyway.

A year passed. I almost forgot about it. Then two days ago Ryan moved into my building. I never told him where I lived. We started running into each other. He tried to talk. I ignored him every time. I decided to move out.

While packing, someone knocked on my door. I thought it was a friend. It wasn’t. It was him. He pushed his way in and said it was all a joke. That he used some app to swap the images. That it was just a prank from the internet. I wanted to kill him. Then I felt relief. Real, overwhelming relief. I threw him out.

Two weeks later I forgave him. We met again. It felt like before. Easy. Natural. Like nothing had happened. At one point I went to the bathroom.

When I came back…

Ryan wasn’t sitting there anymore.

Something else was.