Hi, I’m Erin Fletcher, 23 years old, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and I need some help.

I don’t know what the FUCK has happened to me or how to explain it, but I have to tell someone.

An hour of hurriedly researching for anyone with a similar experience led me here, where I feel like it can be both exposed and... maybe used as a warning?

If anyone believes me, that is.

I totally understand how it will sound.

Right, a little backstory first.

I am 23, as I said, and a medical student. I live in a small town with a population of around 5,000 people.

It was so stressful that I had a breakdown and got chucked from my studies—well, suspended, but I know what "just until you see to your mental health" means.

Covid happened, and I never left my crappy one bedroom apartment, might have given me the excuse I needed to not leave it.

Did I feel guilty for not doing whatever I would be able to to help my underpaid, overworked, and understaffed peers in such a crisis? In all honesty, probably for a week at the start. But then it was all about me.

I know it’s bad, but I even told people I had a medical condition and didn’t want to risk exposure. Acted like a right conspiracy nut to try and stop the invitations.

Me, me, me. In hindsight, I’m incredibly selfish.

It’s 2023, so let’s forget about Covid now, and I have a work from home part time job that pays enough for bills; my apartment is cheap due to the high crime rate in the area. Even the interview was online, they didn’t have high expectations, and neither did I. It works well.

I get groceries delivered so I don’t have to go out, and, despite the fact that I say "leave at door", I don’t answer the door naked.

I don’t really like interacting with people any more, I don’t buy new clothes, and I have about 3 different outfits that I rotate constantly. They have holes and are ripped somewhat, but I will wear them until they literally can not stay on my frame. I wash them about once a week. Same as when I wash myself.

I don’t eat much, to keep costs down, and I only really drink flavoured water. It’s cheap and healthier than some drinks.

I clean/vacuum my apartment once a month, when the dirt gets to a point where I’m actually bothered that it might affect me.

Don’t even put on a bra now, why would I?

I rarely find joy in anything. I constantly watch different things to try to feel something, but I don’t. I’ve accepted that. It’s sort of a case that the fact I don’t find joy in anything IS my "true self".

I guess some would diagnose me as depressed, but I don’t see it that way. More like, I am actually somewhat proud of myself for being independent and what I see as an "adult".

It’s my life, right? I can do what I want with it. Better than some.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on long enough.

My food delivery last week, despite my "leave at door" request, the guy actually got me talking.

Pete Davis.

He said he remembered me when I was a student doctor who had helped his mother calm down one day. She had since passed, but in between her inane ramblings, she had mentioned it to him the day she died.

He actually asked me on a date.

What?

I was so surprised that I must have agreed.

Despite my best efforts, I actually cared to look nice for him. I text my sister, Anna, who was pretty excited for me to actually be texting, and we set a date to go buy me some new clothes, and, on seeing my straggly, unbrushed, bland, hair almost touching the floor, she said she was going to make me feel special.

Today, on the day of my dinner date, she took me shopping, I got a lovely black, cleavage showing dress. Also, a push up bra, stilettos, and accessories. To be fair, I did look pretty hot in the dressing room.

She’d had a very good promotion recently, she said.

It was a full on cliché girls day out, she persuaded me to have a manicure, pedicure, spa treatment, and as a last surprise, we would be getting our hair cut, coloured and styled together.

It seemed a bit much for one date, but every three years seemed ok.

We walked into a very posh salon with very fancy decorations and stylists.

Anna was whisked away, and I was, quite nervously, taken to a chair. Leather, black.

I was asked what I wanted. They could tell by the look on my face that I had no idea, so they got the book.

I opted for bangs, with blonde colouring and a length so that I could still frame my chest with it.

I’ve never liked having my hair cut, to me, they can be like hair dentists, lectures, and upselling.

Very nervous but trying to go with it, I was taken to the basin, my legs were put up, and a soothing massage tickled my back. Maybe a little too soothing.

Then the perfect temperature water started running, and oh, my gosh. The hands started rubbing my head. Two sets of them. I was so comfortable that I felt like I sunk into the white light above my head that I was looking into.

This was actually nice. Bliss.

A few hours later, in a soft white dressing gown and slippers, my hair looked stunning. Big curls and so much like what I had imagined. I wasn’t nervous anymore.

They told me that my sister, Anna, had paid for a makeup artist and photoshoot for both individual and sister shots.

"To capture a day that has been a long time coming."

Anna was still finishing up, so I was first. They had even prepared my outfit for me, as well as people to assist me in dressing, and the makeup artist was ready and waiting.

This place had it all.

I actually teared up a little when they did a big "reveal" at the end of the process, showing me in all my glory in a 360 degree mirrored room.

Pretty fucking hot, probably the best I’ve EVER looked.

Pete was a lucky man.

Next was a proper photo studio and photographer. I was told how to pose for the next hour.

Flash flash flash flash flash

One of the stylists let me know that Anna had agreed to do the sister shoots at another time and that she’d send the pictures later. My phone buzzed with a text from her saying pretty much the same. As I read it, I noticed the time. It was date time.

Doing a little weird dance to myself in my head, I strutted out into the warm summer evening, not too hot or too cold, the wind was a gentle breeze, which worked well to blow my hair in that sexy slow-motion way.

A lot of people stopped and stared.

Pete, dressed very smartly, was waiting for me down the street. I looked at him quizzically, but then he smiled—how had I not noticed how handsome he was before?—and showed me texts from Anna.

Apparently, it wasn’t such a coincidence that we had reunited.

That’s when it all turned to shit.

I broke my heel, con.

Pete caught me in a very romantic film way, pro.

He was a good kisser, pro.

He had garlic at dinner, con.

We went back to mine, and he was a perfect gentleman.

But Erin, I hear you cry, When’s the shit coming?

Unfortunately, soon.

The next morning, Anna sent me the pictures, and, as soon as he heard my phone ping, even though we were cuddling in bed, Pete sat bolt upright and robotically, with extreme speed, grabbed my phone.

Pretty sure I had locked it, but he had unlocked it.

His eyes darted from the screen to me, from the screen to me, faster and faster.

I was slightly annoyed.

"Er….Pete?  That’s my phone."

Pete didn’t respond.

What happened next will stay with me until I die.

He stared at the screen, the glow highlighting his face quite creepily. His face grew deathly pale, and his features dropped, as if all of his facial muscles had stopped working at once.

Seeing his face drop totally changed his expression. As he looked at me, I saw hatred. No, not just hatred, seething, loathing, and detestation in his eyes.

When he spoke, it was no longer the soft, calm, almost ASMR purring voice. It was through his teeth—seething, spitting, anger. His lips were retracting so that his shiny white teeth, which were one of my favourite things about him, were now mocking me, snarling, a tool in his malice. He stood up and gestured at the phone then at me, his body slightly bent over with arms just flailing in motion,

"Look at you, you don’t look anything like this picture, look at you..YOU'RE DISGUSTING!"

Needless to say, this pissed me off. I stood up and screamed at him, "YOU ASKED ME ON A DATE WHEN I LOOKED WORSE THAN FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GO ON, FUCK OFF!"

He did not move off of the spot, but his head and arms dropped. The hand that held my phone was typing something with extraordinary ability. Then it stopped, his head dropped and shoulders slumped forward before they began moving up and down, Pete’s head whipped up, he stood up straight, looked me right in the eyes, and, barely opening his mouth, he spoke. Monotone, and as if he drooled out the words,

"You don’t mean that…" Pete’s voice became a seductive purr, "Do you?"

I walked up to him and went to slap him, but my hand stopped.

Suddenly, I saw my hand move and felt his hair as my fingers ran through it. But this wasn’t what I wanted. Was I short-circuiting?

I felt heavy, not in weight but…like the heavy feeling you get to let you know you’re falling asleep. But my eyes did not close, and I did not sleep.

"Now, let’s fix you, shall we?"

Pete smiled, and I sat on the bed. He got the brush and started to brush my hair. My body dressed itself, and the makeup appeared on my face.

I was experiencing locked-in syndrome, but my body was still functioning, just someone else was pulling the strings.

Constantly, I was powerless to stop him from making me do what he wanted me to do—what he wanted to do to my body. 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and my appearance never altered from that dress, accessories, hair, and makeup, except when I was in my underwear or naked.

But it was more than that, it was like there was another consciousness in my body. Like I was possessed. I would hear a voice in my head mocking me, expressing pleasure when he touched me, even laughing at my pain.

We got married after 5 months. All of that time up to that was both like a blur and yet so clear, but I cannot describe it to you more than I have.

A month after that, I was pregnant. But, the baby was stillborn. I both grieved and was relieved. I had felt all of the sensations of pregnancy and the birth itself.

Pete wasn’t going to let me have even a little joy. When we were alone right after it happened, he looked dead in my eyes, smirked, and whispered, "Aw, so sad. Are you going to cry?" Oh, wait, you can’t!" He then laughed.

Every now and then, normally at the worst times, he would mock me, the *real* me, knowing I was feeling all of it. I’ve had an abusive relationship before, but this was a new definition of toxic.

We had been married for two years. My body was lying naked on the bed, ready for sex.

Pete was just looking at me when he said, "Get dressed."

I waited in anticipation for my body to get up. But it did not.

Pete spoke , a little angrier this time, "Come on, get up!"

What do you want me to do?! I wondered, but wait...

I heard my voice say those words.

The heavy feeling that had plagued me for years was gone, and, though I was shaking and straining as if these were muscles I had never used before, I stood up.

Pete spoke, watching me, and said, "Actually, get the door."

Just like that, there was a knock. I opened the door, and it was Anna!

I cried, wrapping my arms around her. But she did not reciprocate.

That’s when I staggered back in realization,

I don’t have a sister.

She walked in, shut the door, smiled at me, and walked right up to Pete, who kissed her before putting his arm around her, looking back at me and grinning,

"I’m bored of you, Erin. You are ageing so much that it is taking more effort than you’re worth to keep this up."

Anna spoke shrilly, "Besides, babe, I found you a new one." She then laughed in such an annoying manner that I cannot describe it, "Yes, it was me in your body."

This is when Anna showed Pete a phone before continuing, as they both looked at me with an evil intent to their glares. Their speech was chorused,

"Pretty as a picture."

The flash of a camera filled my vision, and I could not move. It was different than before... I could only move my eyes.

I was shaking, but not my body. I couldn’t feel my body, or my head. I couldn’t speak. I could only watch. The shaking stopped with a thud.

I saw the interior of the salon. I was positioned above the basin that I was sitting on. However, it was too high to stand.

A woman walked in the door with Anna. The actions mimicked what I had experienced; Anna walked to the back, out of sight. The woman chose a hairstyle, then sat down at the same basin. The hairstylist and ANNA started massaging her head, and she stared into the white light,

NO, GET OUT!

But no sound came. My mouth didn’t move.

That’s when I saw a photo of a model hung on the wall.

Then she looked at me, and I understood. I was also in a picture. Trapped.

Her eyes were moving rapidly, this is when she looked directly at me.

To say I was freaked out is an understatement.

Her pupils were dilated more than I’d ever seen them before.

Then they looked sad before her eyes, which rapidly darted back and forth, so quickly that they started to become bloodshot and full of blood.

I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t look away.

That's when her frame shook and, after a while, crashed to the ground. A stylist picked up the pieces; the glass had smashed, the frame was covered in blood, and the picture was shredded.

The stylist simply said, "We’ve got another one" and, with no tact, respect, or dignity, simply threw it in the bin.

I could see there were many already in there.

Complete consciousness. No sleep, no break, no closing my eyes. Hunger still occurred. Alone with my thoughts.

I could only tell the days by the light coming in and if the salon was open or closed. I saw many different people sit at that basin.

At some point, I lost count.

At another point I considered "de-framing" myself.

That point grew closer.

One of the worst bits about it?

There were hundreds of pictures in that salon and hundreds more empty frames. All of them were conscious.

I don’t know how long I was trapped there before...

knock knock knock

I jolted into consciousness. I was in my apartment, wearing my ripped clothes, messy, lengthy hair draped over my body.

YouTube had autoplayed a hair and makeup tutorial on my TV. I turned it off before, confused, disoriented, and groggy, I went to my door.

Sat there, alone, was my food.

That was yesterday.

Telling someone, even if you don’t believe me, does make me feel a little better.

I’m back to how I was before. Rarely going outside. I make sure they leave it at the door now. Using a different service.

I did get a remote full time job, move into a better area, and look after myself more.

I deleted my social media, only scroll on Twitter through the trending hashtags and occasionally random Reddit posts.

There’s some kind of new popular zombie-type movie review on the news. I’m not interested in the news, so switch back to my safety shows.

I cannot watch anything with even the tiniest of elements of a topic that may relate to…that. There’s a lot I can’t watch.

I cannot remember my own past, it is just that…experience that I remember every part of. I have a terrible memory, but I can never get any of those details out of my head.

I felt the time pass, the ageing, the childbirth, the pain of losing the child, the grieving, every kiss, every time we had sex. I can not forget any of it.

I just want to know your theories, if it was just a dream, or whatever you think has happened.

I believe that when I feel the post has reached its potential, I may have to do something drastic.

I’m not sure what, but... drastic. I don’t just mean deleting this account.

I’m here to answer questions. It is the 15th of March 2023 as I write this, I’ll schedule the post for in a few days' time, just so I might be more "together" to answer questions.

I'm not really sure how much information or help I can give.

I have to keep repeating, The salon, Pete, and Anna don’t exist.

The problem with that is….when I ‘woke up”…

I noticed, I was holding something…

It read “Happier times make great memories!”

I turned it over and… there was a photo…

It….it was… Pete & “Erin” ‘s wedding.

I…

It was Pete, in his tuxedo, my body in a white dress….and Anna…

Fucking. ANNA. In between the two of us. All of us smiling.

Pretty as a picture indeed.

IN MY FUCKING HAND.

You better believe I fucking shat myself, stood in shock and confusion for a second before I grabbed some matches. I burnt the fucking thing as quickly and intensely as I could, until it was ash.

Then I swept up the ash and chucked that BASTARD into the FUCKING SEA from a cliff.

My name is Erin Fletcher. Erin Fletcher. Fletcher, not Davis. Fletcher.

Thank you for your time.