Momo Jumpscare -

The audio was just static. But you could feel it.

She was closer than she should have been. Her skin was the color of raw chicken, stretched tight over a skull that was too small. But it was the eyes—bulging, fish-like, swimming in their sockets—that locked onto yours. The grin was a deep, wet crack in her face, cutting from ear to ear. momo jumpscare

The phone went black. The room was still silent. The audio was just static

Not a scream. Not a whisper.

The image snapped into focus.

Buffering.

A slow, deliberate exhale, like she had been holding her breath right behind the screen, waiting for you to finally look up. wet crack in her face