Short horror stories

I’ve always liked going to the movies. Ever since I was little, I’ve loved sitting in front of the screen, with the lights off and the sound filling the whole theater. For a couple of hours, you can forget everything else. The problem is that I almost never go. It’s too expensive. But my mother knows a cheaper theater than the commercial ones. It’s a bit far from downtown and almost nobody talks about it. Tickets cost less than half of what they do at any other cinema. Even so, I almost don’t like going there. It’s too cheap. And it’s always empty. The first time I went, I thought it was a coincidence. Maybe it was a bad showtime, or an unpopular movie. But the times I went back, the same thing happened. A huge theater. Endless rows of seats. And almost no one there. Sometimes just me. The last time I went, my mother dropped me off at the entrance while she went to run some errands nearby. The theater was old. The walls were covered with vintage posters, and the carpet had that dusty smell that only places that have been open for years seem to have. The man at the ticket booth looked at me as if he already knew me. “One ticket?” he asked. I nodded. He handed me the ticket without saying anything else. I went into the auditorium. Like always… it was empty. I chose a seat in the middle. The lights slowly dimmed and the screen lit up. But something felt strange from the beginning. There were no ads. No trailers. The movie started immediately. It was a nighttime scene. A house. A boy walking down a dark street. At first I didn’t pay much attention. I thought it was an independent film or something like that. But after a few minutes I felt something strange. The house on the screen… It looked familiar. Too familiar. When the boy reached the door of the house, the camera showed his face. And then my stomach tightened. The boy… Was me. I leaned forward in my seat. It wasn’t someone who looked like me. It was exactly me. The same jacket. The same backpack. Even the same haircut. The scene continued. The boy — me — was walking toward an old cinema. A cinema with worn carpet and vintage posters. The same cinema where I was sitting. A chill ran down my spine. I looked around the theater. It was still empty. I looked back at the screen. In the movie, I was buying a ticket at the booth. The man at the ticket booth was the same one who had sold me mine a few minutes earlier. Then the boy entered the auditorium. The camera followed him down the aisle. Until he sat down. In the seat in the center. The same one I was sitting in now. My throat went dry. Then something even worse happened. In the movie, the boy looked behind him. Directly toward the last row of the theater. The camera moved slowly. Showing the darkness. And for the first time, another person appeared in the movie. Someone sitting in the last row. A dark figure. Watching him. Watching me. I slowly turned in my seat. The last row of the theater was almost completely dark. But someone was there. Sitting. Motionless. I hadn’t seen them come in. I swallowed and looked back at the screen. In the movie, the boy stood up from his seat. The figure in the last row did too. And started walking toward him. The camera never showed their face. Only their steps. Slow. Silent. I heard the sound behind me. One step. Then another. I turned my head. The figure from the last row was walking down the aisle. Directly toward me. I looked back at the screen. In the movie, the boy was running toward the exit. The theater door was closed. Locked. In the real theater, I did the same. I stood up and ran toward the door. I tried to open it. It wouldn’t move. Then I heard the projector shut off. The screen went black. The theater fell completely into darkness. Only footsteps could be heard. Very close. Then the lights suddenly turned on. The theater was empty. There was no one behind me. I breathed in relief. Maybe I had imagined everything. I quickly left the auditorium. The ticket booth man was waiting for me in the hallway. “Did you like the movie?” he asked. I didn’t answer. I just walked toward the exit. Before leaving, I looked at the poster for the movie that had been playing. Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed the title. The poster showed an empty movie theater. And in the center… a single viewer. Below it was the title. “Last Showing.” And underneath, in small letters: “Screened only once per person.”