The Other Me in Westfield Plaza

I'm pretty sure I died in that mall three years ago. I was seventeen when my friends

dared me to stay overnight in the abandoned Westfield Plaza. The place had been

closed for years after some accident nobody talked about. I snuck in through a broken back entrance

around midnight, filming everything on my phone for proof. The first hour was

fine. Just empty stores and broken escalators. But then I heard footsteps behind

me. Every time I turned around, nothing. The footsteps matched

mine perfectly, like an echo that was half a second too slow. I started running.

The mall stretched impossibly long. Stores I had already passed appeared again.