Yandere Stream

Kai stared at the notification until his eyes began to ache.

NEW FOLLOWER

FirstViewer

Followed: 3 years ago

It sat in the corner of his streaming dashboard like it had always belonged there, as if it had been part of his channel’s history long before he ever created it.

That thought alone didn’t make sense.

Kai swallowed slowly.

”I...”

His voice came out quieter than he intended, stripped of confidence.

”My channel wasn’t even made three years ago.”

No one responded immediately.

Not Luna. Not Derek. Not Daniel.

Even the silence felt coordinated, like the world itself was waiting to see what he would accept first: the notification or reality.

Kai moved the mouse toward it again.

His hand hesitated for half a second before continuing. That half second felt longer than the entire conversation he’d had earlier in the night.

He clicked.

Nothing.

He clicked again, slower this time, as if patience might force the system to behave normally.

Still nothing.

The notification didn’t open. It didn’t respond. It didn’t fade. It behaved less like an interface element and more like something embedded into the screen itself, as if it had been scratched into the display from the inside.

A presence pretending to be data.

His moderators were active in chat.

MiloMod: Kai? You good?

JulesMod: You look like you saw a ghost dude

Kai stared at their messages.

They were real. Familiar. Grounding. And yet they felt like they belonged to a different world entirely, one where things followed rules that made sense.

Because what he was seeing wasn’t part of that world.

He exhaled slowly.

”Luna...”

”I’m here.”

”Open my stream. Tell me what you see.”

A brief pause followed.

”I already have it open.”

”Do you see a new follower notification?”

Another pause, longer this time.

”No.”

Kai closed his eyes for a second.

That answer should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

”Nothing at all?”

”No.”

No hesitation. No uncertainty.

Just nothing.

Kai leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders slowly collapsing into something heavier. Exhaustion wasn’t just physical anymore. It was mental, like his brain was beginning to accept distortions as part of normal perception.

Like it was giving up on distinguishing real from unreal.

His phone buzzed again.

MiloMod: sending you something

A file appeared immediately after.

Apartment_Stream_Frame.png

Kai opened it.

It was a screenshot from the stream’s opening moments, showing the hallway behind him.

Empty.

Normal.

Unremarkable.

He frowned.

”What...”

He switched back to the VOD immediately.

Paused.

The figure was there.

Standing exactly where it had been since the start of the stream. Still. Watching. A presence that didn’t move even when time around it stopped.

Kai returned to the screenshot.

Empty again.

He tried another capture.

Empty.

Another.

Empty.

He stared at the screen, confusion tightening into something sharper.

The stream showed something the screenshots refused to preserve. Like the act of capturing it was erasing it from existence.

He repeated the process slower, deliberately.

Pause.

Capture.

Open file.

Nothing.

Again.

Same result.

His breathing changed subtly. Not panicked yet, but no longer controlled. A quiet shift from confusion into recognition that something fundamental was wrong.

Luna spoke softly through his headset.

”Kai.”

”I know.”

”You understand what’s happening?”

”No,” he admitted after a pause.

His voice carried fatigue now, not fear alone.

”I don’t understand anything anymore.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk.

”I’m starting to understand why people don’t believe stories like this.”

A faint sound came from Luna. Not quite a laugh, but something softer.

”I always believed them.”

Kai glanced at his monitor without thinking.

”You would’ve survived this.”

”I don’t know about that.”

”I do.”

His answer came too quickly, too certain.

”You actually pay attention.”

That made her quiet for a moment longer than usual.

”...That’s not a survival trait.”

”It is tonight.”

Before the conversation could settle, Daniel’s voice cut in through the phone line, tense and uneven.

”Mr. Mercer.”

Kai straightened immediately.

”Yeah?”

A pause. Then Daniel spoke more carefully, like he didn’t want the words to exist once said.

”We’re on your floor.”

Relief should have come.

It didn’t.

”They’re outside?” Kai asked.

”Yes.”

A pause.

Then—

”...There’s a problem.”

Kai felt his stomach drop.

”What kind of problem?”

”We’re standing outside Apartment 7A.”

Kai turned slightly toward his front door. It was close enough to see from where he sat. Familiar. Solid. Real in the way only objects you trust without thinking about them can be.

”So what’s the problem?”

Daniel hesitated.

”It’s empty.”

That word didn’t land immediately.

Kai frowned. ”What do you mean empty?”

”I mean there’s no sign of occupancy.”

A faint sound came through the line—movement, footsteps shifting, someone adjusting their position outside the door.

”I can see the entire apartment through the peephole,” Daniel continued.

”No furniture. No lights. No setup.”

A pause.

”No computer.”

”No chair.”

”No bookshelf.”

Silence stretched.

Then, quieter:

”...No you.”

Kai didn’t respond immediately.

His eyes drifted slowly toward the door again.

Fifteen feet away.

Locked.

Untouched.

Unchanged.

”I’m inside,” he said finally, voice low.

”I’m looking at my apartment right now.”

Daniel didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice had changed.

Not fear exactly.

Something closer to disbelief trying to become fear.

”That’s not possible.”

Kai stood up slowly.

The chair behind him creaked softly as it shifted.

”What are you talking about?” Kai asked.

”I’m looking at it,” Daniel said again, slower now.

”And it’s empty.”

Kai took one step forward.

Then another.

The hallway of his apartment stretched between him and the door. Familiar space, yet suddenly unreliable, like it had been reinterpreted without warning.

He stopped halfway.

”Luna...”

”I’m here.”

”If they’re outside...”

He hesitated.

”...what hallway am I standing in?”

Silence answered him.

Not immediate silence. Not natural silence.

A delay. A hesitation in the world itself, like something had to check whether it was allowed to respond.

Then—

Three knocks.

From behind him.

Kai froze.

His head turned slowly toward the bedroom wall.

The gray paint looked unchanged at first glance. Still peeling in thin, uneven strips. Still familiar.

But the silence after the knocks felt wrong.

Like pressure had been applied to the other side.

Then it knocked again.

Not louder.

Closer.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.