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Midnight stream
Last Updated:
2026-01-27 19:50:51Chapter One
The notification goes live at 12:03 a.m.
Most people don’t notice it right away. Midnight notifications are easy to ignore—another bored scroll, another face glowing in the dark. But for the ones who do click, the screen opens to something oddly quiet.
No music.
No filter.
No bright smile.
Just Lila Monroe, framed too close, her face pale in the bluish light of her phone. The familiar background of her bedroom looks different tonight—messier, shadows stretching too long across the walls. Her hair is pulled back like she’s been running her hands through it too many times.
The viewer count ticks upward.
1,042.
1,311.
1,587.
“Hey,” Lila says softly, like she’s afraid of being overheard.
The chat explodes.
LILA!
Girl it’s late
Why do you look like that??
Is this a prank?
She swallows. Her eyes flick off-screen for half a second, then snap back to the camera.
“I—I didn’t plan to go live,” she says. “I just… I needed to talk. To someone.”
More hearts float up the screen. Comments blur together faster than she can read them.
We’re here
What’s wrong?
You okay?
Lila nods, but the movement is stiff, unconvincing. “Yeah. I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I just feel like…” She trails off, pressing her lips together.
The silence stretches.
Someone types: This feels serious.
Another: Call the police if you’re in danger.
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No. It’s not like that. I’m not—” She stops again. Her fingers tighten around the phone. “I just think people don’t really see what’s right in front of them.”
The viewer count jumps again.
2,004.
Across town, in different bedrooms and dorm rooms, phones glow brighter as people sit up a little straighter. Screens are recorded. Screenshots are taken. No one knows why yet, but instinct tells them this is something they’ll want proof of later.
Lila’s breathing grows uneven.
“I know this sounds dramatic,” she says quickly, words tumbling over each other now. “I know how it looks. But if something happens—” She stops herself, shaking her head hard. “No. That’s stupid. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Someone comments: You’re scaring me.
Another: Who’s in the room with you?
Lila’s eyes flick to the door behind her. It’s closed. The handle is still.
“No one,” she says, too fast. “I’m alone.”
A lie—small, practiced, invisible to most. But to the people who know her best, there’s something wrong with the way she says it. Like she’s repeating a line she rehearsed.
She shifts on the bed, lowering her voice. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched? Not online. I mean… really watched.”
The chat slows. Jokes stop. Emojis disappear.
That’s creepy
Are you safe right now?
Lila presses her thumb against the screen so hard it whitens. “I used to think if I shared everything, I’d be safe. Like, if everyone knew where I was, what I was doing, then nothing bad could happen. Because someone would notice.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
“But nobody notices,” she whispers.
A sound comes from somewhere off-screen. A soft thud. Maybe a door. Maybe footsteps.
Lila freezes.
The viewer count spikes.
3,218.
“Did you hear that?” someone types.
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes are fixed on something the camera can’t see. Her breathing is shallow now, quick little pulls of air like she’s trying not to make noise.
“It’s probably nothing,” she says finally, but her voice doesn’t believe it. “I’m just tired.”
Another sound—closer this time.
Lila flinches.
Her phone trembles in her hand, the image shaking as she stands. The camera angle dips, catching a blur of her room: posters on the wall, clothes on the floor, the edge of her desk.
“Lila, stop the live and call someone,” a comment flashes.
She shakes her head. “If I stop… if I stop, then it’s like it never happened.”
She moves toward the door, slow and careful. The chat is screaming now, words stacking on top of each other so fast they’re unreadable.
DON’T OPEN IT
LILA PLEASE
CALL 911
Her hand hovers over the handle.
For a second, she looks straight into the camera.
“If anyone’s watching this later,” she says quietly, “I need you to understand something. I tried to tell the truth. I just didn’t know how.”
The handle turns.
The screen jolts violently. The camera spins, catching a flash of darkness, a sharp intake of breath, a sound like the phone hitting the floor.
The live stream cuts to black.
Connection lost.
By morning, the video has been shared thousands of times.
By morning, Lila Monroe’s bed is empty.
By morning, everyone is asking the same question:
How did we all watch it happen—and still miss her?
Latest chapter
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning Missing No More
Chapter TenLilaThe first night back home, I sleep with the lights on.No ring light. No phone propped up on my desk. No audience waiting for me to speak.Just silence.It feels unfamiliar—like stepping into a room that used to be crowded and realizing it’s finally empty. I lie awake listening to the soft hum of the house, the normal sounds I used to drown out with notifications and music and voices that weren’t really there.When morning comes, sunlight spills across my bed like it’s apologizing for being late.I sit up slowly, testing my body. Sore. Bruised. Real.Alive.Downstairs, I hear Jade laughing at something Amir says, and the sound anchors me. Proof that the world didn’t end while I was gone. Proof that some things stayed.I pull on a hoodie and head down.They look up at the same time.Jade crosses the room in three steps and hugs me like she’s afraid I’ll evaporate. Amir smiles—small, tired, relieved.“You slept?” he asks.“A little,” I say. “Enough.”That’s true in more
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning Unmasked
Chapter NineJadeThe police station smells like disinfectant and burnt coffee.Jade sits with her hands wrapped around a paper cup she hasn’t touched, watching a red light blink above the interrogation room door. Lila is on the other side of it. Alive. Breathing. Wrapped in a blanket that doesn’t look warm enough for what she’s been through.Jade keeps replaying the moment the rope snapped.The moment Lila stood up.The moment the world stopped holding its breath.“You did good,” a voice says.Jade looks up to see Detective Harris standing beside her, tall and tired-eyed. He has the look of someone who’s seen too many endings that didn’t end well.“It doesn’t feel like it,” Jade replies.He nods once. “It rarely does.”Across the room, Amir sits hunched over, answering questions from another officer. His hands shake when he talks. Jade knows that look—his brain still racing, trying to solve something that hasn’t finished unfolding.Because it hasn’t.The antagonist got away.And that
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning The Second Stream
Chapter EightLilaThe first thing I learned about disappearing is this:You don’t vanish all at once.You fade—piece by piece—while everyone is still looking at you.I knew something was wrong two weeks before the livestream.It started small. A message that wasn’t creepy enough to block. A comment that knew too much. Someone quoting things I’d only said out loud in my room, pacing, talking to myself like the walls weren’t listening.You hide your fear well, the message said.I laughed it off. Screen-shotted it. Sent it to Jade with a joke.But that night, when I turned off my ring light, I saw the reflection in the window.Someone standing behind me.I spun around.Nothing.That was when I realized the scariest part wasn’t being watched.It was being watched by someone who knew me.By the time I figured out who, it was already too late.The warehouse floor is freezing against my bare arms. My wrists ache where the rope cuts into them, tight enough to remind me not to move, not to ho
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning Voices in the Dark
Chapter SevenJadeThe warehouse smelled like rust and river water—sharp, metallic, and old. Jade gagged as she stepped inside, the beam from her phone flashlight slicing through the darkness like it didn’t belong there.“I hate this,” she whispered.“You’re doing great,” Amir said, but his voice echoed too loudly, bouncing off concrete and metal. “Just… stay close.”They shouldn’t have come alone. Jade knew that. Every logical part of her brain had screamed police, parents, literally anyone else. But logic hadn’t helped Lila.And logic hadn’t sent the message.Midnight again tonight.The location had come ten minutes later. No address. Just a dropped pin near the river—the same river from the blurry photo on the hidden account.Some places remember you.Jade’s hands shook as she swept the light across the warehouse interior. Broken crates. Torn plastic sheets. A shopping cart tipped on its side like it had been abandoned mid-escape.“This is insane,” she muttered. “What if it’s a tra
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning The Hidden Account
Chapter SixAmir hadn’t slept.The glow from his laptop was the only light in his bedroom, throwing sharp shadows across the walls as lines of code scrolled endlessly down the screen. His phone lay face-down beside the keyboard, buzzing every few minutes with messages he refused to answer.Jade had called six times.He knew he should pick up. He knew she was spiraling just as much as he was. But Amir needed to be sure—absolutely sure—before he said anything out loud.Because if he was right, everything changed.He leaned closer to the screen, heart pounding as he replayed the clip for the fourth time. It was from Lila’s final livestream—the one everyone had already watched, dissected, slowed down frame by frame. The one that had gone viral for all the wrong reasons.Except Amir wasn’t watching Lila.He was watching the reflection behind her.At exactly 12:47 a.m., when Lila leaned forward to read a comment, the ring light caught something in the dark window behind her. A blur. A movem
Online at Midnight. Missing by Morning Offline Threats
Chapter FiveThe warehouse wasn’t on any map most people used. It was the kind of place that only existed in whispers—a decaying, forgotten building on the outskirts of town, fenced in with rusted metal and overgrown weeds. Everyone in our school knew it, but no one went near it.Except me.I had argued with Amir, tried to convince him we should wait for the police, but he shook his head. “They don’t move fast enough,” he said. “We’re the only ones following her breadcrumbs. If we wait, we’ll lose her completely.”I knew he was right. And besides… I couldn’t stand the thought of Lila being alone in whatever nightmare she was caught in.I drove slowly down the gravel road leading to the warehouse, windows cracked against the chill. My stomach twisted with every turn of the tires. The building came into view just as the sun was dipping behind clouds, long shadows stretching across the cracked asphalt.The place was worse than I remembered from the rumors: paint peeling from the walls, g
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