On his first night in this old neighborhood, Jack noticed that streetlight.
It stood at the foot of the apartment building, its light a dim yellow, like a cloudy eye, burning all night long. The landlady had once mentioned in passing that the bulb had been broken for three years and had been repaired more than a dozen times, but as soon as night fell, it would inexplicably light up.
Jack was a programmer and didn’t believe in superstitions. He just found the light glaring and disruptive to his sleep.
On the third night, Jack woke up needing to use the bathroom. He walked to the window and looked down out of habit. The streetlight was still on, its glow casting a long shadow across the wet asphalt.
Suddenly, he froze.
A person was standing under the streetlight.
The person was wearing a hoodie, head bowed, standing motionless right in the center of the glow. Jack furrowed his brow—it was three in the morning; who would be standing under a streetlight at this hour?
He picked up his phone, opened the camera app, and zoomed in.
On the screen, the person’s face was hidden by the hood, so Jack couldn’t make out their features. But he noticed one detail—the person’s shadow.
The streetlight was directly overhead, so the shadow should have been right at their feet. Yet the figure’s shadow stretched out behind them, all the way to the bushes on the other side of the street.
Jack rubbed his eyes and looked again. The shadow was still there.
He flung open the window, leaned out, and shouted, “Hey! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
The figure didn’t move.
Jack grabbed his jacket and rushed downstairs. The motion-sensor light in the apartment lobby flickered on; he pushed open the front door, and a cold breeze swept up his neck.
Under the streetlight, there was no one there.
Jack stood in the glow of the light and spun around. No footprints, no footprints… Wait a minute.
He looked down.
On the wet pavement, there were indeed no footprints belonging to anyone else.
But his own footprints—stretching from the apartment door all the way to the streetlight—led only one way: out, but not back.
Jack froze. He’d clearly just come down—how could the footprints…
He looked up sharply.
The streetlight was still on.
But this time, he could see clearly what was inside the bulb.
It wasn’t a filament.
It was a face.
A face exactly like his own, staring intently at him from inside the bulb.
A faint smile still played at the corners of its mouth.
Jack turned and ran.
He dashed back into the apartment, locked the door, and leaned against it, gasping for breath.
Outside the window, the streetlight was still on.
Trembling, he pulled out his phone to call the police.
The screen lit up.
The wallpaper was a night scene he’d taken last night.
In the photo, a figure stood beneath a streetlight.
Wearing his jacket.
Wearing his hat.
And the photo’s timestamp showed—tomorrow.
Jack slowly looked up.
The hallway light outside the door had come on at some point.
It stayed on all night.
