On the day my family gathered to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, my phone buzzed with a series of bizarre text messages. "Darling, you are not human. Please be careful not to reveal your identity." "In a world overrun by humans, you must survive." 1. My hand froze, hovering over the birthday cake. A smudge of frosting smeared onto my phone screen. My mom, sitting right next to me, noticed. She poked my forehead gently. "You're eighteen now, Chloe. Still so messy..." Her voice trailed off. Her finger lingered on my forehead a second too long. I don't know why, but a primal instinct kicked in. I locked my phone screen instantly before she could lean in. Mom looked a little hurt, but she recovered quickly with a smile. "My baby's all grown up. Keeping secrets now." She shifted her gaze across the table to my cousin, Tyler. "Why is everyone looking at their phones today?" I felt a pang of guilt. How could I doubt my own family over a spam text? Maybe it was post-exam stress. I had just finished my SATs, and my brain was fried. For a split second, I actually believed the text. It had to be a prank. Some senior prank, maybe? "You're not human"? Please. Why not tell me I’m the heir to the throne of Genovia while you're at it? I definitely didn't buy it. I glanced at Tyler. He was only a few hours younger than me, practically my twin. Was he the one messing with me? Just as I was about to check the sender ID, another message popped up. "MEMORIZE THIS. Humans use the following methods to identify Mimics. We use these rules to blend in." "1. Before the age of eighteen, Mimics and Humans are indistinguishable." "2. Humans do not possess special abilities. Mimics awaken an ability after turning eighteen." "3. The Golden Rule of the Costco Food Court: The hot dog and soda combo is always $1.50." "4. Humans vastly outnumber Mimics. This is not our world. Remember this." "5. If a Human suspects you, clear your name immediately. Or you will die." "6. Not all Humans know Mimics exist. Use this ignorance to hide." 2. I read the list and frowned. What kind of creepypasta nonsense was this? The first part was whatever, but the "special ability" part? That confirmed it was a prank. If I had superpowers, I wouldn't be stressing about college applications. And the Costco hot dog thing? Everyone knows that. It’s practically an American institution. $1.50 forever. Just as I was about to dismiss it all as garbage, a hand snatched the phone from my grip. "Chloe, are you texting a boyfriend?" Mom asked, her voice sweet but her grip firm. My face burned hot. "Mom!" It wasn't even about the texts. It was the embarrassment. If she saw this sci-fi roleplay spam, she’d think I was having a mental breakdown from academic pressure. I just wanted to be a normal girl. "Oh? Silence? So there is a boy," Mom teased, looking at the screen. I felt a sudden spike of panic. But when she handed the phone back, my eyes widened. The messages were gone. Deleted. Vanished. The top message was now from Ben, the class president: Hey Chloe, free tomorrow morning? Meet me at the stadium bleachers? I knew Ben probably wanted to confess his feelings, but my mind was racing. Did Mom delete the texts? Or did I hallucinate them? No. I definitely saw them. Then a thought hit me. A virus. Maybe the messages were programmed to self-destruct after reading? But that would require some serious hacker skills. We’re in a high school drama, not Mission: Impossible. Then, my heart slammed against my ribs. There was one other possibility. 3. "Aunt Helen! My phone is bugging out. Look at this spam," Tyler said, waving his phone in front of my face. "It's hilarious." My stomach dropped. Tyler got it too? If Tyler got it, maybe it wasn't a virus. Maybe it was a family prank. I looked at Dad. He loves pulling pranks. He’s been really serious lately, but maybe he’s back on his bullshit? I grabbed Tyler's phone. It was the exact same message. I was about to laugh and tell him I got it too, when Mom’s expression changed. She didn't just frown. She looked terrifying. She grabbed Tyler's phone and smashed it onto the floor. Crash. "Tyler," she said, her voice dropping to sub-zero. "Are you human?" Tyler blinked, thinking it was a joke. He laughed, slapping my shoulder. "Aunt Sarah, what are you talking about? If I'm not human, am I a Mimic like the text says?" He was giggling. He didn't see Aunt Helen—his own mother—stand up. Crack. Aunt Helen cracked her neck. It sounded like a gunshot. The air in the room grew heavy. Suffocating. "Tyler," Aunt Helen asked softly. "Tell mom. How much is the hot dog combo at Costco?" Tyler scratched his head. He sensed the vibe was off, but the text was still fresh in his mind. He tried to recall the "rules" but got confused by the tension. "Mom? You hungry? It's... uh... inflation, right? Like $3.50 now? Maybe $5?" Aunt Helen smiled. The tension vanished. "Right. Exactly right." She placed a hand lovingly on Tyler's shoulder. "Tyler..." SQUELCH. Blood sprayed across the dinner table. Aunt Helen had driven a steak knife into Tyler's neck. Tyler's head hit the floor with a wet thud. His eyes were bulging, staring directly at me. I stumbled back, knocking over my chair. Mom and Dad sat there, stone-faced. Aunt Helen looked at her son's severed head with pure disgust and stomped on it. "I didn't expect Tyler to be replaced," she spat. "Filthy Mimic." I stared at the corpse, my brain screaming. Aunt Helen just killed him. Just like that. Where were the police? Why was nobody screaming? And... why did Tyler die when he answered the wrong price? The text said $1.50. He guessed higher. Wait. If the text was a guide for Mimics... and the text told the truth ($1.50)... then a Mimic would know the answer. A human might know. But a panicked human who doesn't go to Costco might guess inflation. Tyler guessed wrong. So he was human? Or... 4. Aunt Helen wiped her hands on a napkin. Before my eyes, Tyler’s body began to liquefy. It fizzed and melted until it was nothing but a pile of white ash, which seemed to seep into the floorboards. Gone. My jaw hit the floor. Everything I knew about reality shattered. Then came the fear. The text said I wasn't human. If I'm a Mimic... will they kill me too? Mom wrapped her arms around me. "Chloe, baby. You're eighteen now. We can't hide it anymore." She looked at the smashed phone on the floor. "Tyler wasn't human. Years ago, Mimics invaded our world. They're easy to kill, but they replace humans seamlessly. Before eighteen, you can't tell the difference. The only tell is that only Mimics receive the activation text." "Tyler got the text. And he failed the test." Mom’s eyes went dark. She stared into my soul. "Chloe. Tell Mommy. How much is the hot dog combo at Costco?" The room went silent. Dad, Mom, Aunt Helen. Three pairs of eyes, locked on me. If I answer wrong, I die. If I answer right ($1.50)... do I die because I know the rule? Or do I survive because I'm passing as human? Wait. The text was a guide for Mimics. If I answer correctly, I confirm I read the text. My hands shook inside my hoodie sleeves. Think, Chloe. Think. The text said: Use human ignorance to hide. I looked at Mom, feigning confusion and a little bit of teenage attitude. "Mom? Are you serious? Who goes to Costco? That's for old people. I don't know, like two bucks?" I narrowed my eyes at her, flipping the script. "Wait. Why are you acting so weird? Are you the Mimic?" Dad and Mom exchanged a look. Then, they smiled. Mom hugged me, tension draining from her body. "That's my girl! A Mimic would have memorized the price from the text!" Aunt Helen wiped a tear, grabbing my hand. "Oh, Chloe. I was so worried. I'm sorry." But I saw it. Deep in Aunt Helen's eyes, there was a flicker of malice. 5. "Mom, don't we need to call the cops?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. The hug felt cold. "Silly girl," Mom said. "Mimics don't leave bodies. No corpus delicti." She sighed. "Poor Tyler. Don't mention him around Aunt Helen for a while, okay?" I nodded obediently. I retreated to my room, my mind reeling. One day. That's all it took to go from a high school graduate to a separate species. Good news: I look human. Bad news: I am a Mimic. Worse news: I am living in a nest of Mimic-hunters. Worst news: Aunt Helen suspects me. 6. I pulled out my phone. I focused my mind. Hide the message. The text reappeared. That was my ability. I could toggle the visibility of the "Mimic network." I replied to the number: Who are you? No answer. I tried calling. Dead air. The sender was either busy or a bot. I typed again. The Costco rule is a trap. You can't just answer $1.50. You have to feign ignorance if it fits your persona. A reply pinged instantly. “Thank you, User, for your feedback. The Survival Guide is updating.” “Reward for contribution: Location of Mimic Scent Masker. Stadium Locker 305. Code 5454.” A masker? I needed that. I grabbed my keys. "Going somewhere?"
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