Chapter 14: The Monster She Made
1132 Words
Camille didn’t sleep that night.
Not even in Damien’s apartment, where the doors were reinforced, and the windows blacked out. Not even with Archer pacing in the hallway and Julian sitting beside her like a human shield.
The card lay on the table in front of them. Just one line.
“You created me.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Archer muttered, rubbing his jaw.
Damien answered from the kitchen. “It means she’s not just obsessed with Camille. She believes Camille is responsible for her existence.”
Julian’s eyes never left Camille’s face. “Is there anything—anything at all—you haven’t told us?”
Camille wanted to say no. But the truth itched beneath her skin.
“There… was a group. In college,” she said slowly. “We used to play this game online. It was harmless at first—just fake profiles, made-up drama. We’d write each other into stories, these dangerous romantic plots. My username was CamLace. And the guy I was paired with called himself CorvusRex.”
Archer raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like roleplaying.”
“It was. But it got... intense,” she whispered. “People got too deep. One girl got doxxed. Another said someone showed up at her door pretending to be a character from the game.”
Damien looked sharply at her. “And?”
“I quit. Deleted everything. But before I left, I wrote one last story—a revenge arc. A woman who loses everything, gets remade into someone powerful, seductive, unstoppable.”
Julian’s voice was cold. “And you think… she read it?”
“I think she became it,” Camille said. “Or thinks she did.”
Damien walked over and placed a printed photo beside the card. “I ran facial recognition. Your doppelgänger has no digital footprint until two years ago. But I did find one blurry image from a campus protest seven years back.”
Camille leaned in.
The woman in the photo wore a hoodie. Her hair was darker. Her face obscured.
Until Camille looked closer.
The eyes were unmistakable.
“She went to my university,” she whispered.
“And she might have been part of that game,” Julian said. “Or watching it.”
“Or watching you,” Damien added.
Camille stood, suddenly sick. “I need to go back there.”
Archer stepped in front of her. “No. She wants you to go back. Don’t give her control.”
“I won’t,” Camille said, eyes hard. “But I want to remember. I need to know who she is.”
---
The next morning, they returned to Camille’s campus. It was smaller than she remembered—quieter. The trees were bare. The student café smelled the same—cheap coffee, nostalgia, regret.
Julian walked beside her, hands in his pockets. “You were different here.”
“I was naive,” she said. “I believed in happy endings.”
They met with an old friend of Camille’s, Marta, now an adjunct professor. Marta had been part of the online game group—until she’d dropped out abruptly after the stalking incident.
“I remember the story you wrote,” Marta said, nursing a tea. “The woman who stalked the man who broke her. Everyone loved it. It was dark, romantic. It went viral in our little corner of the web.”
Camille’s heart pounded. “Did anyone ever message you about it after I left?”
Marta hesitated. “Yes. A girl named Becca. Said she related to the character. Asked a lot of questions about you.”
Camille blinked. “Becca?”
“She was quiet. Smart. A bit intense. I think she dropped out after your story ended.”
Damien, who had joined them unnoticed, leaned in. “Becca what?”
“I don’t know. She used different names online. Sometimes she called herself VelvetCam. Said she was your shadow.”
---
That night, Camille replayed every memory she had of college. Every night spent online, pouring fantasies into code and dialogue. Every anonymous admirer, every username she ignored, every compliment she brushed off.
How many people had watched her become Camille—the Camille she was now?
And how many wanted to be her?
She was brushing her teeth when the lights flickered.
She paused. “Julian?”
No answer.
“Archer?”
Silence.
She walked out of the bathroom—and found the apartment door open.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number: “You looked so beautiful today in your old sweater.”
She ran.
---
Julian found her ten minutes later, barefoot in the alley behind the building, staring at a message carved into the brick wall.
“You left me in the dark. So I became your shadow.”
He wrapped her in his coat, pulled her close. “She’s escalating. Getting closer.”
“She’s been inside,” Camille said. “She watched me. Touched my things. She knows me better than I know myself.”
Damien joined them. “She’s not going to stop. Not until she replaces you.”
Camille looked up at them both, her voice ice.
“Then let her try.”
---
The trap was set.
Camille returned home the next evening, alone, with a security team hidden outside. Damien had rerouted the security cameras. Julian was inside the building two floors below, watching through a hidden feed.
She sat on the couch.
She waited.
At 11:03 PM, the lights cut out.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
A shadow moved in the corner.
And then—footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Camille stood. “I know you’re there.”
The woman stepped into view.
She was wearing Camille’s red silk robe.
“Do you remember me now?” the woman asked.
Camille’s breath caught.
“Yes,” she said, the memory breaking through.
“You were the girl who messaged me. Who said I inspired you. Who begged me to keep writing.”
The woman smiled. “I didn’t beg. I believed.”
“You used my story like a script,” Camille said. “You lost yourself in it.”
“I found myself in it,” the woman whispered. “You showed me who I could become. Strong. Desired. Feared.”
“You’re not me,” Camille said.
The woman tilted her head. “No. I’m better.”
That’s when the lights returned—and Damien tackled her from behind.
Julian burst in a second later.
But the woman didn’t fight.
She laughed.
“I’m in your blood now,” she whispered as they dragged her out. “Even if I disappear, you’ll always wonder if you’re her—or if she’s you.”
- Writer
