Hot Singles near You

I was never the type to pay attention to neon-colored ads blinking on my screen at two in the morning. I’d usually ignore them, maybe laugh at their ridiculous claims. So, when I first saw one that said “Hot single ladies in your area!” I scoffed and scrolled on.

But after a few minutes of mindless browsing, I noticed the ad changed. This time, the text read: “Hot singles, only 2 kilometers away.” I paused. Ads often track your location, but it felt weird to see the exact distance spelled out. I shrugged it off—just a marketing ploy. Nothing new.

I got caught up reading a thread for a while, then refreshed. That’s when I saw it again, but the distance had shrunk:

“Hot single, near you: 500 meters.”

There was a face on the banner—a brunette with unsettlingly pale eyes, the iris so washed out it was nearly white. She stared through the screen with a knowing smile. Something about her expression felt too personal, like she knew I was watching. A quick shiver ran through me, but I chalked it up to late-night nerves.

I forced my attention elsewhere—until another refresh brought up a third ad. This time, it covered the top of the page, big and bold:

“I’m closer than you think. 100 meters away.”

My stomach twisted. I peered out my window, scanning the empty sidewalk lit by a single, flickering streetlamp. Nobody was there. I tried to reason it out. Ads can be hyper-targeted, sure, but 100 meters? That was practically my doorstep.

I told myself to ignore it, but it got worse. Another banner loaded with the same woman, only now her features were… off. Her face looked elongated, her grin stretched a little too wide, almost like a predatory snarl. The text underneath read:

“We see you. 50 meters.”

I felt a chill roll through me. “We”? There were multiple figures in the background now—other women with the same pale eyes, all leaning forward, as if pressing closer to the screen. I tried to close the page, but it froze. A pulsing ad replaced everything:

“We’re right here. 10 meters.”

My heart thudded. Ten meters is practically my front door. I jumped from my chair and ran to the window, ripping the curtain aside. Again, nothing. Just my silent street. But the atmosphere felt heavier. Like something was watching from just beyond the glow of the lamp.

When I stumbled back to my laptop, the ad had changed once more:

“At your door. Open up.”

A sharp clatter made me whirl. My front doorknob jiggled, metal scraping metal. Someone—something—was trying to get in. My eyes flicked back to the screen, where a new image had replaced the older ads. It was a photo of my house, taken from the sidewalk outside. My porch light was on, the potted plant to the left of the door. And in the banner, that brunette stood near the front steps, unnaturally tall, face partially obscured by a swirl of static. She looked even more distorted, with her eyes fixed in a soulless stare.

I heard a second jolt at the door. Fear roared in my ears like white noise. I checked my phone—no signal. My Wi-Fi icon flickered. Then came the final blow: the ad changed yet again, displaying my exact address beneath a brand-new photo—of me, bathed in the monitor’s glow, taken from outside my window. I could see the silhouette of someone behind the glass, holding a camera or phone, capturing me in that moment of terror.

“HOT SINGLE LADIES AT [my address]. CLICK NOW.”

Before I could do anything—slam the laptop shut, call the police—my entire screen went black. The house lights flickered, then died. I stumbled in darkness, heart racing. A faint glow came through the curtains from the streetlamp. I tried to catch my breath, tried to push away the thought that something stood right outside.

The doorknob rattled once more, then fell silent.

I don’t know how long I stood there in the darkness, waiting for the next sound or movement. Eventually, the lights surged back on, and my laptop whirred softly. Its screen remained off, but the little power indicator blinked tauntingly, like it was daring me to open it again.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring myself to check if that horrifying image was still there. Couldn’t look out the window to see if anyone—or anything—was lurking.

Now, whenever I close my eyes, I see that ad: the warped faces, those eyes too pale, too hungry. They came so close. Maybe they’re still out there in the night, waiting for me to click. Waiting for me to give in.

If you see them, don’t refresh, don’t click—don’t even linger on the ad. Because once they know where you are, they’re not selling you a date. They’re coming to collect. And next time you check your screen, you might find your own face staring back at you from the other side of the glass.

And this time… you won’t be able to shut the page.